


20 Years Gone

by MundaneSalad



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Existential Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, References to Depression, Road Trips, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-21 10:31:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MundaneSalad/pseuds/MundaneSalad
Summary: It's been two decades since the destruction of the Institute and the fall of the Prydwen.  X6-88 has carved himself a place in the countryside as de facto protector of Nordhagen's beach.  Ex-Paladin Danse hasn't been managing too well.  Unable to come to terms with him own existence, he winds up unexpectedly (and unknowingly) at X6's door.  Out of options, Danse asks X6 to accompany him on a journey back to the capital wasteland.





	1. Time

You could say X6-88 was a man of efficiency.  The way he lived was to sustain himself only on as minimal resources as possible.  He woke up at 7 am and switched on a small lamp kept on his bedside.  It was the only source of light in the room, for he did not spend much time in it during the day.  What he considered his house was a small beached fishing trawler on the banks of Broad Sound, just north of Nordhagen’s beach.  It was just enough to be livable:  below deck was the cabin, shielding its inhabitant from radiation storms, as well as being quite watertight after 200 years of weathering, so leaks from the rain weren't an issue.  There was a single lockable hatch that prevented others from entering while X6 was sleeping, not that anyone could catch him sleeping and survive.  The livable space in the cabin consisted of a single bed, a wash basin, and a stove.  It was just enough for him to be content.  

He promptly dressed, washed up, and ate a bowl of cold vegetable soup, leftover from his dinner last night.  He hadn’t caught any mirelurks recently to supplement the broth, but the bits of carrot and potato in the tato base were filling enough. X6 could have warmed it, but he rarely felt the need to expend firewood on something as insignificant to him as breakfast.  He could have also eaten above deck, in the wheelhouse.  There was at least a table and chair there, as well as the warm orange glow of the rising sun on the ocean.  However, the days were getting colder and the chill of the windy beach wouldn’t let up until midmorning.  X6 washed his dish, slung his old rifle over his shoulder, and ventured above deck.  

Ragged seagulls perched on the rails of the deck, squawking at each other as if to argue who gets the irritate the ex-courser today. X6 emerged from his personal brig, the cold sea breeze stinging his cheeks. The ocean shimmered in the late October morning, delivering soft foam and bright green kelp to the rocky beach. The waves rolled in, producing a constant but comforting purr. X6 stood in the wheelhouse briefly. The original steering mechanism and machinery was picked for scrap long ago, leaving a gnarled gap underneath the blasted out windshield. A seagull was picking at a bug on the table. X6 shooed it away. Bird poop was already a pain in the ass to clean up, he didn't need it anywhere near the place where he eats. The bird screeched and hopped off disgruntled, flapping its nearly bare wings as an empty threat.

Atop the wheelhouse was a watch post. His former director came here once and called it a “sniper nest”. He silently fumed since he was 1. not a sniper and 2. synths (much less coursers) don't build nests. He resented never correcting her. X6 climbed up to the watch post and scanned the beach for anything other than the gentle lapping of waves on the shore. Nothing beyond the ordinary of the wrecked trawler.

To the north was a raider camp that was its own more grotesque version of his home. The wreck of the Libertalia, it was huge, nasty, and mostly abandoned. Old bands of bandits rebirthed it into what it is now: a sprawling, floating outpost. Raiders, chem dealers, and killers used to call this a home, somehow. While impressive from a distance, it's flaws were more apparent while scaling the hull. Anyone who was on one too many chems would slip on the wooden bridges and be claimed by the sea. It creaked so loudly in the morning that it may as well been roaring. By lunchtime, the gulls gathered at its rails to gossip. Not to mention the omnipresent, penetrating stench of rotting fish. Every once in a blue moon, a band of ill-informed raiders would try and fail to reclaim the floating fort. The first time X6 met his former director-his creator’s mother-was at Libertalia. The two wiped out the whole outpost to retrieve a single renegade synth.  She was hesitant when they finally caught the escapee, which resulted in him completing the mission on his own. He used to hate that, too. What was once a burning resentment towards his director has faded to be confused discomfort. Since then, he’s single handedly kept the Libertalia uninhabited.  X6 considered destroying it, but he didn't have access to the explosives or napalm in order to reduce it to ash. A ghost town all to himself.

To the west was the ruins of Boston. Once every few months or so, X6 would venture into its faintly beating heart in order to do more esoteric trading.  Diamond City was the most tolerable settlement in the wasteland. Since McDonough was removed, Diamond City opened its doors to all those too weak to take care of themselves, including ghouls and synths. His ex-director took it one step further-she relocated most of his former superiors to the city. The scientists were told they had one job now: make life better on the surface. There was now a thriving science district where new technology was being manufactured and distributed to the settlers of the Commonwealth. Radios have gotten smaller and easier to transport. It was now much faster to communicate with other settlers over the airwaves over handheld devices. Irrigation systems and alternative farming more than quadrupled produce production. The average child was more literate than their parents. The Great Green Jewel was in a golden age, and it was spreading its discoveries across the Commonwealth.

And X6 loathed the Commonwealth.

On the surface, there was death everywhere. Whatever condemned the Commonwealth, it should have tried harder.  Surface dwellers had their chance, before the Great War. They gave into relying so hard on pre-existing resources and didn't devote themselves to making their own. Their incompetence crescendoed into cowardly throwing ICBMs at one another, all over petroleum oil. Nations salted the earth with isotopes in an attempt to prevent each other from continued existence. Everyone failed in their mutually assured destruction, as some stragglers have sprang like weeds from the cracks in the earth, the vaults, the shelters, and pure luck. Of the few who could withstand a nuclear blast, they would descend into animalistic fighting and obsession.   _This pile of rubble is mine!_  Surface humans suffered over the past 200 years, and it was the general consensus at the Institute that they needed to be put out of their misery. However, the Institute never fully made plans to kill those on the surface, per se, most of the scientists never knew what life was life on the surface.  They mostly just scribbled on their whiteboards, shrugged, and figured that the Commonwealth had a few decades maximum before they wiped themselves out.  The scientists never went to the surface.  They were too good for that.  They sent other people to do so.  The coursers were told to rescue their own wayward synths from the rotting corpse of the Commonwealth.  X6 knew it wasn’t his place to speak, but he thought the scientists could get a better understanding of how to deal with Boston if they witnessed firsthand their own scouting missions.  From what he experienced, Massachusetts was not a “rotting corpse,” but “an animal with a broken leg.”  The coursers knew the fastest way was to end its suffering life, but deep down, something within him suggested he nurse it instead.  At this point he had no other choice.  The Institute-his home-was destroyed.  Few lives were lost that day, but at the same time, everyone’s life was lost.  The ex-director traitorously ordered everyone within its walls to relocate to the surface, as barbarous surface humans would release their rage on all that they stood for.  What was once the vast underground laboratories of the institute was nothing more than another crater in the earth, picked clean by scavengers.  

Years on, X6 looked upon the eastern sea from his watch post.  He balled up his fist.  He avoided associating emotion with that memory but what are memories more than an association of stimuli and emotion?   Since then, he’s only seen the ex-director once.  She dropped in unannounced years later and seemed to have forgotten all about their previous confrontation.  She was oddly chipper and avoidant, X6 said fewer than 30 words the entire exchange.  She gave him a portable communication device, she called it a “transistor radio”.  She said that the scientists from the Institute had been developing this technology underground but weren’t able to get it to work on a large scale since coming to the surface.  The ex-director wanted to keep in touch with him, as well as use the device to converse with local settlers.  The radio currently sat in a footlocker under his bed, unused.  

The wind howled over the beach.  A mirelurk scuttled ashore.  Those things were a pain in the ass, but they kept him fed most of the time.  If he let it live, it would lay eggs and try to claim the beach for itself.  Not to mention the mirelurk queens.  X6 aimed at the monstrous crab and pulled the trigger.  A beam of light shot out and the crustacean plopped back into the tide.  He’d have to claim the corpse quickly or else it would be washed to sea and attract other monsters.  The courser climbed down from the watchpost and hopped over the side of the ship.  He pulled off his boots and rolled up his pants to his knees.  There was something particularly unnerving about the clammy _splortch_ of sopping wet shoes.  X6 neatly laid his boots together along with a very sharp hunting knife, produced from his jacket.  The sand was rough and slimy under his soles.  He gradually waded through the threshold of the tide.  The waves kicked and bit at his exposed legs.  The water today was nearly freezing, he’d have to retrieve the mirelurk quickly lest he succumb to hypothermia.  The beast’s carapace drifted in the tide.  He grabbed the lip of the shell and hoisted it up the beach.  There was a fine line between acting fast and getting frantic, as the latter was more likely to result in slipping face-first into the freezing water. Once on the beach, he rolled the creature onto its back, exposing its delicate thorax.  He retrieved the knife, the blade glittered in the sunlight. X6 looked it over once, wiped off a speck of dried blood, and plunged the blade into the beast’s belly.

***

Since X6 didn’t like going to Diamond City market, he got most of his supplies from the farm to the south, where caravans would visit. The farmstead was merely a stone’s throw away from the shipwreck. Five people lived there. An elderly woman, her son, his wife, and their two children. The woman and the son had lived there the longest, Having been a mother and a child when X6 took up residence in the ship 20 years ago. Bunker hill serviced the Nordhagen family, who would hold onto his goods for him until he gathered enough of his energy to just barely socialize, in exchange for protection and various things he finds on the beach.  Today was one of those socializing days, it was decided when the mirelurk scuttled into his beach. X6-88 slipped on his coat and tucked a parcel under his arm. Several thick cuts of mirelurk meat, bundled neatly in a white paper package. It was midday now, and the sun shone brilliantly on the sand. Wind whipped at the skirt of his jacket as he climbed down to the beach.

 _Here is your crab,_ he rehearsed mentally, _may I have my goods, sir and/or ma’am?_

Of all the things he’d seen, killed, and trained for, smalltalk was one of the very few things he didn't know how to do. He pursed his lips, unable to form any sort of definitive facial expression while over thinking the scenario.    _I have taken record of the past 14 days of local crime. 3 raider gangs were spotted and dispatched. Would you kindly place another order for a case of Fancy Lads for me?_ The autumn air was freezing on his flushed cheeks. He tried to relax but the most his mind did was mishmash everything together into an even, salt and peppery static.

The farmstead itself was fairly small but made extensive use of its size.   The Nordhagens’ cottage was small but well taken care of. There was a clear ragged border between the end of the original pre-war house and the newer part of the house, which the original Nordhagens built years ago. The Nordhagens grew low, viny plants, mostly gourds and squash. A small picket fence bordered the terraces arranged around the house. Every inch of the property was covered in fruiting plants, save for the gated pathway leading to the front door.  X6 gently unhitched the latch and swung it open. One of the children, a girl around the age of 10, was raking around a big yellow squash. She was humming to herself and didn't notice the courser.

X6 never understood why humans needed to take so long in growing up. They were helpless for the first few years of their existence and many of them stuck close to the place they were born for nearly two decades. It was a colossal waste of time.  If humans wanted to ensure their survival, those above ground should have tried to artificially construct their own successors. There were several families within the Institute, but even so most of the children were in school all day. In the time that he worked in the Institute, exactly one new human baby was produced. Babies are squirmy, rude, and loud. It was awful.

“Excuse me, Alice Nordhagen,” X6 tried to say in a gentle voice but instead it came out unintentionally abrasive. “Where may I find James or Carey Nordhagen?”  The girl looked up from her plant.

“Oh hullo Mr. Essex, I didn't see you there.” She was curt.  Alice didn't like talking to adults. Adults only talk about caps and illness and farming. “Ma’s out in the back field with Nana. Pa and Jack both gone to town. I don't know why. Something business related probably.” She kicked at the dirt. “Business is boring.  Pa took me to town last time.  It was mostly watching him give boxes of gourds to strangers and getting caps n’ stuff. He got me noodles from this funny robot. That was the only good part.” Alice rambled. She liked noodle soup and hated sitting around. X6 didn't know how to respond to the child’s story. Alice paused for a second then looked down sullenly. “Except normally when Pa’s at Diamond City, he’s only gone for a day or two. It's been a week.  I miss him and I miss Jack.”

 _They’re probably dead_ , was the first response X6 could have said. _Settlers are weak, children are weaker. Raiders most likely have looted their corpses by now_. Something deep down gently nudged him away from that thought.

“When was the last time you spoke with your father, Alice?” He finally asked.

“Oh, it was this morning. Pa radio’d Ma and said he had to stay in town a few more days. She sounded sad. I wanted to talk to him and Jack, but Ma made me go play outside.  I think they have a secret and I’m a little bit scared.” Alice was worried in that way where you don’t know if you should be more worried than you are now.   

There are things in this world that are meant to be feared. Things like mirelurks, raiders, super mutants, and rogue vault dwellers. There are other things that nobody talks about as being scary, but even made X6-88, one of the most feared assassins in the Commonwealth, uneasy. The Institute was built on secrecy. Not just on the outside, but the ranks and departments didn't allow just anyone to know what was going on. Those at the bottom of the food chain weren't allowed to question what went on above them. You got your assignments and you didn't think anything else about it. _Keep your eyes on your own work. Mind your own business. Report suspicious activity to your supervisor or else there would be consequences_. Even coursers, the highest ranking synths, were considered far lower than the lowest ranking humans in the Institute. X6 wasn't even aware transparency was an option until he started traveling with his ex-director. She didn't mind when he voiced opinions, in fact, she encouraged it. He had a hard time biting his tongue when he returned to the SRB with a newly found appreciation for sarcasm. Honesty was good and made him feel safe, but as all things, it couldn’t last.  Even the ex-director was lying the whole time.

“Thank you for sharing this with me,” he meant it as earnestly as he could.

Alice resumed tending to the squash. X6 gingerly stepped around all of the vegetables to find Carey and her mother-in-law, Lauren, in the field behind the house. They were arguing. Carey Nordhagen’s voice was cracking, eyes red with tears.

“...I’m scared too, Carey. It will be alright,” Lauren said and placed a hand on her daughter-in-law’s shoulder.

“But what if he’s not alright? What if it turns out there is no cure or we can't afford it or it doesn't work? I can't lose my boy!”  Carey was tearing up.  “He… he’s only six…” She grabbed her face in an effort to keep from sobbing, but it seemed to be doing the opposite. Lauren wrapped her arms around her.

“Let’s examine the facts, honey. Jack has purple spots all over his body and he can't walk. This illness, whatever it is, seems to be more common outside of Massachusetts. I heard some fellow in the capital was able to cure his son, who was Jack’s age.”

“James is trying to find someone in Diamond City who has the cure, but none of them can help Jack. I can't lose him.”  Carey was crying now. Lauren rocked her back and forth. The two hadn't noticed him approaching. X6 felt weird being around people crying. He was torn between asking for his goods and turning around to leave.  He thought of the ex-director, and wished he had she had been more honest during their time together.

“You should tell Alice what is happening,” he offered. The two were caught off guard. Carey yelped.

“Jeez, Mr. X6, it would be nice to receive a little more notice from you,” said Lauren, exasperated.

“I work quietly,” he replied. The package of mirelurk meat suddenly felt heavy under his arm. Carey tried to stop crying but was unsuccessful. Lauren pat her back and took executive control.

“Can you come back at a better time, X6?” Lauren asked rhetorically. X6 would have liked it more if she had directly told him to go away. He didn't protest. On his way out, Alice waved at him.

“Bye, Mr. Essex,” she seemed a tad more chipper than before. This puzzled him.

“Why are you doing that?” He asked quizzically.

“You listened to me talk about Pa n’ Jack and nobody else has today,” she said. X6 didn't know how to react to this. He remembered the meat bundle under his arm. He offered it to the child.

“Your family wouldn't listen to me either,” he smiled ever so slightly, “I meant to give this to them.  It’s...It’s mirelurk meat.”  Alice accepted it and thanked him, running into the house.

***

That evening X6 ate his dinner in the ship’s wheelhouse. The wind was blowing ripples in his soup, picking up and swirling around the shelter in gusts. Some of the broth splashed out of the bowl and onto his lap. He grumbled and looked out of the windowless pane.  Malevolent green clouds were rolling in from the south. They roared with thunder and flashed bright green sparks. A radstorm had escaped the glowing sea, ready to strike ill those who are unprotected from radiation, such as X6 if he refused to move from his dinner spot.

“Ah, shit,” he muttered.  He picked up the bowl and retreated into the dark dwelling below deck. The soup was cold by now, so there was no point in continuing to eat it while the stain on his coat solidified. X6 dunked a rag in the washbasin furiously scrubbed at the spot, resulting in his only jacket being uncomfortably damp. It was too cold (and irradiated) to go outside in just a t-shirt, so he had to stay indoors until it dried, which he figured would be tomorrow morning. At least raiders are smart enough not to attack in a radstorm. That’s a deathwish. He returned to his soup. Beyond the rumble of thunder and the occasional trickle of acid rain, it would be a quiet evening.

A metal-encased hand knocked on the hull, ringing throughout the cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: X6-88 fights a crab and tries to socialize.
> 
> Maybe this time I won't be a weenie and delete it within 5 minutes of posting. I have several chapters of this written already I just have to proofread and write more. In addition, I will add the tags as I go.


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I...I was a sleeper agent?” Danse stood up once again, finally knocking the chair over. “What else do you know? Who-What am I?!”

The irradiated wind howled furiously across the deck. The brig’s hatch cracked open as to not allow the poisonous air inside. The beach was shrouded in a thick green smog. Piercing through the darkness were two glowing eyes, about the height of a man. Shadowed behind it was a dark, hulking figure. X6-88 squinted, concluding that the figure was wearing a suit of pre-war power armor. The headlamps on the helmet were the only thing immediately visible, its style more reminiscent of the armor the Enclave would wear. However, the Enclave had no ties to the Commonwealth so this was most likely some scavver who got lucky at the history museum. A crackled voice com echoed across the beach.

“I’m out of rad-x,” the armor clad figure said. “Can I take shelter in here until the storm blows over?”

“Go away,” offered X6. He ducked back down into the cabin.

“Wait please!” The figure waved his hand out, stepping towards the ship. “This storm is projected to rage on until tomorrow morning.  There are leaks in my armor and I’m fairly certain I already have mild radiation poisoning!”  His helmet was a static glare but he was visibly panicking. X6 poked his head out again.

“That’s your own damn problem, go away,” he latched the hatch as loudly as he could this time. The figure yelped and climbed up to the deck. The entire ship shook under the weight of the power armor. X6 loaded his rifle with a fresh round. If Mr. Tin Can stuck around any longer, the he would find himself with a new set of power armor. The armored figure frantically knocked on the hatch.

“It was Lynn! Lynn sent me!” X6 paused and looked at the rifle. The plastic was worn and discolored. Any text that had been printed on it was long rendered illegible. Reliable. He considered his options. The figure knelt by the hatch. After hearing no movement for several seconds, he stood up and turned around, dejected. The lock turned on the trapdoor and creaked open. The figure could only see the assassin’s cold eyes.

“Leave the armor in the wheelhouse. Take off your shoes before coming down,” requested X6.

 ***

Two pairs of boots sat aligned beneath the hatch. The empty sac of a used rad-away lay on the table.  The figure-a man-was tall and muscular. He wore a thin blue-and-red boilersuit displaying the logo for a pre-war gas station on the breast pocket. His face was rugged and tired but looked no older than 30. X6 never noticed how small the cabin was until someone else was there with him, let alone a man as big as his guest. The lamp on the table was the only source of light, a flickering bulb cast ever changing shadows across the room. There was only one chair available for the stranger, which left X6 sitting on the bed with the rifle in his lap.

“How do you know Lynn?” he asked grimly. He placed a hand over the grip of the rifle.

“I… she told me that someone out on the east end of the Commonwealth could help me find something. She told me to ask for the man who lives in a fishing boat by the Nordhagens’ farm,” the man explained. He looked around the tiny living space before settling on his host. There was something familiar about him. He didn't see the faded black courser jacket draped over the foot of the bed. A pair of reflective sunglasses stuck out of the host’s breast pocket. He squinted at the host.  “I wasn't given a name but-” it came to him.  He stood up so furiously it nearly knocked the lone chair over. “You’re that _courser_ , aren't you?” He snarled.  

“Unit X6-88,” he answered. “Am I expected to know you?” The guest slammed his fist onto the table. X6 tightened his grip on the rifle. It would be easier if he just dispatched the stranger now, but something inside him wanted to see how this would play out.

“GOD _DAMMIT_ , LYNN! Why does she always pull shit like this?” he ran his hands through his hair, wincing. The stranger wanted something solid for once in his life. The Institute had been his mortal enemy back before his life had fallen to bits. But even twenty years gone, he still resented anyone associated with the secretive laboratory. X6 was getting impatient.

“You didn't answer me, how do you know my former employer? Am I supposed to know you?” He demanded. The stranger paced back and forth angrily.

“Lynn Brockway… I was her mentor, back before it turned out she was a double agent for something upwards of four factions-”

“Quadruple agent,” X6 corrected.

“Ok, sure whatever. I needed Lynn’s help to solve a problem of sorts, but she pointed me to _you._ ”  The stranger seemed to spit the last word.

“I’m not interested in helping anyone, much less some wastelander in a suit of probably stolen armor.”  X6 sat farther back on the bed, crossing his legs.  The stranger irritation shifted into despair.  He hissed through his teeth.

“Look buddy-”

“I’m not your buddy,” interjected X6.  Mystery man sat back down and dug his nails into his knee, trying to prevent himself from flipping out.  He took a deep but strained breath.

“ _Look buddy_ , my name is Saul Danse, I’m an old friend of Lynn.”

“I’ve never heard of you in my life,” replied X6 flatly.  Danse couldn’t tell if X6 was messing with him.  They’d met a handful of times, decades ago.  However the man’s poker face was uncannily straight.  He really didn’t want to reveal more personal information, but he had no other choice.  He hated thinking about himself, but at the same time, it was the only thing he could think about.  Danse took another deep breath.

“I was unit M7-97.  I don’t remember anything about being a… a synth.”  X6’s face lit up, it had been years since he’d come into contact with anyone else like him.  He suppressed his awe, like he always did.  In the Institute, he’d have to keep it cool, lest he be subject to “re-education.”  Coursers had to cling to what little personalities they were permitted to have, or else risk a mind wipe.  Even now, with the Institute removed from the Commonwealth and no fearful scientists to receive orders from, X6-88 still found himself unable to let himself express emotion.  The most you could see was a quick smile, a sudden flash of anger, a momentary frown.

“You were the Brotherhood sleeper, weren’t you?” X6 asked rhetorically.  Danse looked up, wide eyed.  Danse saw his opportunity.  For the past 20 years, all he wanted to know was that his life, his childhood, that _he_ was real.  That it all wasn’t just a sick joke.  He could get closure.  Had he escaped the facilities he was trained to loathe?  Did he unknowingly kill and replace that kid from the Capital wasteland?  Or was he some other unknowable guinea pig for the Institute?  For the first time, Saul Danse was in a room with a high-ranking Institute synth, and they weren’t trying to kill each other.  The lone courser who lived in a boat would have his answers.

“I...I was a sleeper agent?” Danse stood up once again, finally knocking the chair over.  “What else do you know?  Who-What am I?!”  He nearly shouted.  X6 leaned back further, flinching ever so slightly.

“I just guessed you were a sleeper agent.  I only figured by the designation.  I swear I don’t know anything about your case.  I didn’t even know you were also a synth when…”  he hesitated, expecting some no-name scientist to scold him for not speaking correctly, “...Lynn mentioned you were a Paladin.  Years ago.”  

Danse’s hopes, as meager as they were at this point, shattered once again.  That’s it. He was out of all other options. He dropped to his knees, numb.  All emotion for the past two decades had been expended at every other road block and dead end. He didn't know what else to do anymore. He firmly believed he had no place in this world.

For the second time that day, X6 found himself in a situation of severe emotional stimuli.  And once again, he was totally inexperienced in how to act.

“I’ve tried… for twenty years… to find a reason for why I exist. It’s all a sick joke,” the ex-paladin said dejectedly.   _Twenty years? That’s pathetic._ X6 would have normally said, but now wasn't the best time to jump to conclusions.

“You could ask the scientists in Diamond City why they made you,” Suggested X6. Danse dropped his head.

“I tried that.  There are no records of Institute data from before the explosion and all the scientists in the-” he strained his breath, “ _robotics_ division were long dead or don't remember me.”  

Danse had only one last plan.

“The Brotherhood wanted to destroy Rivet City. I loved the Brotherhood but too many of my brothers and sisters came from Rivet City, including me. I couldn't let them destroy a town of people who were my friends-my _family_.” Danse sighed.  “Or at least, that’s what I was made to believe.”  

This was the most vulnerable he’d ever been with a stranger. Saul Danse was used to being protected by several layers of metal and not just his power armor. From the rusty walls of Rivet City to the shining foil gondola of The Prydwen, steel was a security blanket for him. His armor eventually became his home, when he gave up living at one the settlement of Lynn Brockway, sole survivor of cryogenic Vault 111. She was the only one to confront him after he learned the truth of his nature, and the only one (not even himself) who didn't want him to die for it. He had one last way of finding answers, but the former wasteland wanderer had settled down to take care of her son and couldn't travel with Danse anymore.  

“What will you do now?” X6 asked. He figured Danse should have given up long ago and accepted his fate like most of the other synths he knew, but then again, X6 was never given someone else’s identity.  

“I… I’m going to go back to Rivet City. If Saul Danse-if _I_ was ever real-I would still have friends there. They would know me.” Danse tried hard to not tear up, “I’ve been 29 for God knows how many years. Some of them _have_ to still be alive, right?”  

Pre-war, the average life expectancy of an American was roughly 80 years. Since the bombs fell, quality of life has significantly dropped. In some places, you’re lucky to make it to 60. Anyone that Danse would have known would be close to reaching their expiration date.

“You should probably go soon,” said X6.

“I decided that if it ever came to this, I’d want Lynn there with me at Rivet City if it turns out Danse was made up all along. She stopped me from dying more times than she even knows.  I’m going to the Capital, but without her, I doubt I’ll be coming back.” Danse said somberly. He could only stare at the floor. He didn't see the other man purse his lips in an attempt to decode the salt and pepper static in his mind. Neither man said anything.  All that remained was the soft drumming of acid rain on the hull.  X6 exhaled loudly.

“If you need anyone to accompany you to the Capital wasteland, I _may_ be available.” He finally offered. “I know I’m not good with words, and I won't stop you from trying anything stupid, but I have my own reasons for going to D.C.”  

Danse looked up, wide eyed. He was astonished at the offer. He didn't know synths as brainwashed as coursers were able to make such free willed decisions as traveling with a friend of a friend, a former enemy to boot.

“You’d really be willing to do that?  Just, I don't know how I feel...traveling with an Institute-”

“Don't push it, _Paladin_ ,” X6 interjected. “I’m making this offer only once. Don't make me change my mind.”  Danse sat up and straightened his clothes, running a hand through his hair.

“X6-88, come with me to the Capital wasteland,” Danse outstretched his hand. X6 shook it reluctantly at first before settling into a firm grip. The soldier’s hand was sweaty and cold. X6 made a mental note to pack a lot of soap.

“Yes I will. Just don't try anything, Danse.”

***

Saul Danse’s satchel had been slung in the corner. Inside was the usual: MRE’s, spare fusion cores, a used paperback of _The New Commonwealth Pocket Book of Philosophy_ , and whatnot. He had prepared a map of the eastern seaboard years ago. He had neatly traced a path based on the major roadways, running from Diamond City to Capitol Hill. The route, most frequented by long distance caravaneers, was nearly a straight line, save for a wide arc around what would have been New York City.  The Big Apple was the most heavily bombed city in the Great War, now nothing more than an irradiated crater, dozens of miles wide. Both men knew the dangers of the glowing sea, and that was just the aftermath of one bomb. Alternate routes were scribbled in the margin, one suggesting sailing around Long Island by ship. Also noted were various landmarks along Connecticut, New York State, New Jersey, Pennsylvania, and finally Maryland before terminating in D.C. It was long.  

“We take the caravan route,” stated Danse.  “The Brotherhood of Steel tried to seize the major highway stretches across the seaboard, but it wasn’t popular with the locals.  I know where most of the Brotherhood checkpoints should be, so it's best to take care and avoid those roads.  But most of the time, they don’t bother with the caravans.”

It would reliable to travel with a merchant caravan. They provide credibility for safe passages. However, caravans are also slow and may look like easy targets to shifty raiders. The estimated time for caravans along this route is nearly a month. Travel alone, less than 2 weeks was written under the legend. X6 delicately inspected the fine print. Danse sat on his bedroll, which was laid on the ground in front of the stove. He was eating an MRE. Something mushy that was meant to be lasagna, centuries ago. While his host let him sleep in the cabin until the storm blew over, X6 made it clear he wouldn't be sharing any of his food.

“Right now I only have enough soup for one person and I am not giving it to you,” he explained. “Don't think we’re friends now.”

“The feeling is mutual,” The soldier rebuked.  Ages ago, he would have spat out a harsh ‘...Synth’ or some other derogatory term, but even these days he still needs to hold back from internalized prejudices.  Of the few times he forgets he’s a synth, it’s always when he wants to insult them.  

Whatever sliver of mutual understand that was shared last night was forgotten by now, overshadowed by foul morning moods. X6 sat on his bed, having not moved in 7 hours. He took the prospect of sleeping alone for granted after 20 years. Back in the Institute, he lived in the barracks with all the other coursers.  The synth barracks may as well been sardine cans.  They were not given much personal space, but at the same time, weren’t permitted to socialize with the others. The soldier on X6’s floor made him uncomfortable and wasn't able to carry out his nighttime routine of washing up and dressing for bed. This resulted in him nodding off sitting upright on his bed, wearing yesterday’s clothes and the rifle in his lap. He would be prepared if his guest turned out to con him. He’s been wary to let his guard down and could barely stay asleep, jerking awake every few hours to make sure he wasn’t dead yet.

“Do you always sleep like that?” Danse asked, between bites of mashed pasta. He believed he had awoken first and took a slight smugness with it. X6 rubbed his eyes and sat up straight, spine cracking uncomfortably.

“I normally don't have to quarter soldiers on short notice,” he stood up. “Watch yourself. You're in my space.”

“Good morning to you, too.”  

 ***

They spent the rest of the morning in silence broken occasionally by discussion of landmarks along the way. They were to leave today, before noon. The weather today was much more mild, the sun glittered on the shore.  The waves looked so inviting, beckoning all to play in her domain.  It was times like these that Danse wish that he had learned how to swim.  The most he would be able to do would be to kick off his boots and stand in the sand as the chilly waves washed over his feet.  But by then, it would be so easy to just keep walking, into the sea. Danse had moved his armor down from the deck of the ship onto the sand to repair it.  He was able to patch up a majority of the smaller holes, but the armor was left mostly unscathed in the wheelhouse of the ship during the storm.  There were a few gashes he wished he could weld back together, but he didn’t have blowtorches readily available anymore.  Fixing things was one of the few things he took joy in anymore.  Danse went through the general machine inspections Brotherhood soldiers were trained to carry out before entering armor.  Make sure the hydraulics are in working order.  Watch for cracks in the exoskeleton.  Oil the joints if needed. His expectations were met and he suited up.  Wearing the armor was when he felt the most content, that nothing could hurt him.  It was his home.  He considered wearing the helmet, but ultimately tossed it back into his satchel.  He never liked the look of the X-01 power armor’s helmet, as it reminded him too much of an angry songbird.  He yearned for his old T-60 armor back but he knew it would just bring him more heartbreak.  Danse slung his bag over his shoulder and pulled out the old map as gently as he could.  Today’s goal was simple:  Take the remains of Route 90 west until the highway branches south.  He tucked the map back into the bag and look out at the beach.  A black clad figure was approaching from the southern farmstead, glaring reflection glinting off his sunglasses.  

“Where did you go, X6?” Danse shouted.  He didn’t answer.  He was holding a small silver device with a long, wiry antenna protruding from it.  The plethora of dials on it were tuned to a specific wavelength.  He tucked it into his pocket.

“Radio will be useful in case….well, just in case,” Danse trailed off.

“I had to tell the local settlement that I would be unable to protect them for the foreseeable future.”  X6 stated curtly.  The corner of Danse’s mouth ticked up.

“Protect them?” He smirked.  “I didn’t know you could-”

“Are you ready to leave, Danse?”  X6 interrupted.  What little possessions X6 had were stowed away in a knapsack.  A change of clothes, microfusion rounds, toiletries and such.  The Nordhagens had given him some spare vegetables for his trip.  If he had to, he was prepared to pack up and leave at a moment’s notice.  X6 liked to think he had no emotional connection to Broad Sound and the Nordhagen’s beach.  He dismissed the many thoughts that suggested otherwise. He climbed up to the deck of the ship.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” signaled Danse. X6 took one last view of the beach, a mental snapshot of a beautiful morning. He closed his eyes, made a promise, and locked the hatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: Sleepover!
> 
> I will adjust the tags as needed if you catch my drift.


	3. Departure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you normally sleep in that?” X6 asked. Danse was genuinely puzzled by the question. 
> 
> “Like what?”
> 
> “Using power armor as pajamas.”

The journey southwest was fairly uneventful. The sky was bright orange as the sun began to set.  The two men exchanged little conversation beyond discussion of route changes and possible Gunner camps. The Gunners, a dangerously sophisticated militia of bounty hunters, had been mostly eradicated from the Commonwealth. The gang was a nuisance, albeit a very deadly and efficient one.

“General Garvey was able to push the Gunners out of Quincy once and for all,” explained Danse. “However most of them have settled into smaller camps scattered outside Massachusetts.”  

“Garvey?” Echoed X6.

“Leader of the Minutemen. Old man. Not particularly adept in combat but he’s decent enough.  He was good friends with...” Danse trailed off, distracted by creaks in the overpass above them.

Many of these camps were perched precariously atop the crumbling freeways arching over the outskirts of Boston. They were fairly well hidden, only accessible by carefully maintained elevators. The Gunners never left their nests unless some poor sap wanders too close or a bounty needs to be claimed. Otherwise, they were a fuzzy mold that needed to be scraped off every few years to prevent them from expanding.  The Minutemen were less of an organized military and more of a network of connected settlements aimed at keeping each other safe and free. The militia rarely assembled unless one of their settlements was under imminent danger or refugees were in need of supplies. This meant that the smarter gangs could organize just outside of their watchful eye, and the Minuteman weren't able to do anything about it. The 90-West highway would be veering fairly close to most of the Gunner camps. X6 hoped that the man in the X-01 armor didn't look like easy caps for the Gunners. The footsteps on the overpass echoed louder, but the only other figures in view where the stretched shadows of the two men. X6 silently reached for his rifle and loaded it with a microfusion round, safety off. Danse took notice.

“That’s not safe gun etiquette, X6,” he said. “You should only-” X6 shushed at him. The two froze.

“I think we’re being watched,” whispered X6. Danse nodded and loaded his own laser rifle. Nearly an antique, the gun was a sturdy metal clad tri-beam laser rifle leftover from his days in the Brotherhood of Steel. Little sections near the barrel of the gun were chipped, but Danse took great care of it, repainting or sealing the stock as necessary. It was heavy but it was powerful. Reliable. He scanned the overpass for any sign of the Gunners, those bastards would plaster their logos everywhere back in the day, when they were cocky. They had become slightly more reserved since then. But only slightly. The clanging got louder. A generator started, followed by the sound of distorting steel as the spool of an elevator line unwound. The gondola was beginning to drop, about 50 yards down the overpass.

“We have to take cover now,” X6 mouthed to Danse, gesturing to the unkempt shrubbery by the side of the road. X6 was able to slip into the underbrush, no louder than a shadow. Danse, however, had to stay as quiet as possible while contained in a half ton case of solid steel. He

Slowly stepped his way to cover, as softly as possible.

_Clank. Clank. Clank_.

The elevator descended swiftly, its cargo a rugged looking woman, a short young man, and an assaultron.  The two humans were arguing.  

“Only jump folks who look like they need a jump,” said the man, “Y’know, the old folks n’ the people who look like nobody will go searching for them.”  He seemed slimy, even for a gangster.

“You’re a fucking moron, private,” she scolded, “I didn’t rebuild this camp and lose an eye just doing raider shit.  No, I had that entire eyeball shot out by ol’ Gladys over there-” she pointed to the assaultron “-when some wasteland fuck decided it was funny to hack all the assaultrons to fuck up our shit.” The three exited the elevator.  “You know what that means, private?”

“...You should put passwords on your terminals, captain?” he suggested.  She smacked his hat off.

“No!  It means we’re the Gunners, and we have money for assaultrons and terminals and elevators.  Wasteland fucks don’t fuck with us.  We don’t fuck with them unless they’re paying.”  She made a motion suggesting a cut throat.  “That could mean they are paying cold hard caps, food, or simply this: if they have something nice, we take it.” Danse and X6 locked eyes.  They both knew that Danse’s X-01 power armor was in short supply in the Commonwealth.  It was equipment that would be invaluable to the gang’s operations if they could get an unscathed set.  Regardless of condition, It would fetch a pretty penny to the Gunners should they discover the two.  

“I don't see how that’s any different,” the private muttered.

The two Gunners wandered closer and X6 was able to get a better look at them. The woman was tall and sinewy, with short, greying hair and a faded eyepatch over where her right eye would have been. The man was no older than 20, with jagged teeth and greasy black hair tucked under his recently replaced ushanka. The kind of guy who would steal the candy _and_ the baby. They were both packing plasma pistols, which wouldn’t be too hard to counter.  The problem was the assaultron, which could spell trouble for even high ranking synths, Institute or Brotherhood.  Danse lay low on the ground beside X6, as flat as possible.  The thickest part of the brush was too low for him to get a good vantage point while wearing armor.  He was uncomfortable with letting the other man be his eyes for him.  The woman spun around, X6 ducked.

“So Gladys!  Where is my eyeball now?” She asked rhetorically.

“The Captain’s eyeball is in hell,” it replied, low and monoton. “With all the other bounties.”  The captain gestured grandly.

“Correct my friend!” She declared. “And you know what Gladys’s reward for being correct is?” She asked the private, expecting an answer. He looked away nervously and kicked the dirt.

“A… an oil break?” He asked feebly. The captain was looking visibly annoyed now.

“It means that she gets to accompany your sorry ass in tonight’s patrol shift.” She spat out like a drill Sergeant. The private went wide eyed and pouted.  She wandered back to the elevator and hit the ascend button.

“Oh come on Captain! Really the whole night? You made me do night patrol yesterday!” He complained.  The captain ascended up to the overpass camp.

“That’s punishment for taking pot-shots at ‘wasteland fucks’ who happen to be caravans.”  She shouted back. The captain’s elevator reached its destination and she stepped off, disappearing out of sight.  The private was left with the assaultron, who had not moved since unboarding from the elevator.  He looked at it and pouted.

“You heard the woman, you’re on patrol!” He yelled at the robot.  It slowly turned and began marching away from X6 and Danse’s hiding spot.  The private plopped down on the ground and pulled at the grass in the dirt.  The assaultron paced back and forth underneath the overpass.  200 yards away, turn, 200 yards back, turn, repeat.  After an ungodly amount of time, the private began to nod off.  The sun had disappeared beyond the fields of the west, leaving nothing but a fading purple sky.  Danse was getting antsy from the silence.

“What do you see?” he whispered to X6.   Danse lay on the ground, feeling as useless as an overturned tortoise.  X6 bent down closer.

“The private looks inexperienced.  It won’t be hard to kill him.  The assaultron however….” he trailed off.  “It seems to be on a set loop.  We wait for its back to be turned, I’ll give a signal, then we sneak off.”  The private was now fully asleep, the only variable left was the killer robot.  Back.  Forth.  Back. Forth.  Danse rolled into a crouch as quietly as possible, both synths now able to watch the assaultron.  It made a round, just yards away from their hiding spot.  When it was just enough distance away, X6 put a finger to his lips and glanced over at Danse.  He nodded and both turned away, crouched low and slow.    
_Clank._

_Clank._

_Clank._

The private stirred, but merely stretched out fully on the ground.  The assaultron paused briefly, scanning the scene.  The two men suddenly became statues.

“No anomalies detected,” It concluded softly before resuming its function.  This did not wake the private.  Danse let out a sign, but X6 kept his breath held. The assaultron was nearing the end of its relay and the two would be in its line of sight the moment it turned around.  X6 scanned the wrecked highway to the left, there was an abandoned subdivision shrouded by trees just beyond the turnpike.  

“We’ve got to go now,” Danse mouthed to X6.  

“I think if we can get past those cars, they won’t-” X6 wasn’t able to finish his sentence.  From his pocket came the loud _SCREECH_ of a handheld radio springing to life, catching an airwave.  The device contained the blaringly loud voice of a tiny girl.  X6 went wide eyed and scrambled to grab the radio in his coat. The private bolted upright.

“Mr. Essex!  Mr. Essex! Ma told me what’s happened to Jack!” Alice Nordhagen sobbed through the static.  X6 pulled the radio from the depths of his coat, but that only made Alice’s crying louder.  The private jumped to his feet and pointed at Danse.  

“Gladys!  You let these fuckers get through!  And that one has power armor!”  He yelled, cocking his pistol.  The assaultron began sprinting at them.

“We have to run NOW,” demanded Danse, he pulled out his own rifle in retaliation.  X6 would have done the same, but he was stuck with the screaming radio.  He later wouldn’t admit to it, but in that moment, he was panicking.  He turned the radio to a different channel, hoping for a quieter one.  

“Captain!  Some fuckers got power armor!”  He yelled at the camp.  Danse took the opportunity of the private looking away to shoot him in the chest, shutting him up permanently.  The assaultron was coming at them at full speed, and all the two could do was run.  X6 and Danse fled the scene as quickly as they could, not worried about noise anymore.

_CLANKCLANKCLANK!_

Danse spun around and fired a volley of shots at the assaultron’s legs.  The metal shielding of the robot’s shin blasted off, toppling it over. The robot went down, blasting a final beam of sheer heat at the two, narrowly missing.  

As they ran, Danse could hear commotion coming from the overpass camp, which died as they escaped further and further away.  But all X6 could think about was Alice and her cries.  

***

X6 and Danse found an abandoned house to camp out in for the night.  Danse had taken to building a fire in the long-unused fireplace. The two laid out their belongings, X6 sitting on his sleeping bag, Danse paced the room. X6 was still shaken from the radio and hadn't said anything since the run-in with the Gunners. All he could do was pull it out of his pocket and stare at it. Danse was pissed.

“What is the deal with the radio? You could have gotten us killed!” He stated, striding back and forth. The floorboards shook under the heavy footsteps of the armor. “Are you working for someone else?” X6 returned to his standard composure.  

“That’s none of your business.” He said curtly. Danse was fuming, pointing to the radio.

“It became my business the moment that _thing_ alerted all of the Gunners to our position.” X6 thought hard about Alice and Jack’s illness. On one hand, he could destroy the radio and cut off contact to the Nordhagens. But what if they returned and Jack was dead? Then his journey would be for nothing. On the other, he could tell Danse, who might tell him to give up the mission. Those in the Brotherhood were known in the Institute for taking, never giving.

“The girl on the radio is Alice Nordhagen. Her brother has an illness. I told her parents that I would find the cure for their son in the Capital.” He said, avoiding eye contact. A year of silence passed in a minute before Danse spoke.

“You should probably talk to her now.”  X6 turned the dials back to the agreed upon setting. The Nixie tubes on the radio flared up, displaying the code for Nordhangen’s farm. He squeezed the call button, the airwaves screeched.

“Come in Nordhagens. This is X6, may I speak with Alice Nordhagen?” He said into the microphone. There was no immediate reply. Danse simply stared at him. A moment later, the receiver crackled to life, casting the fumbling of a young girl scrambling to answers the radio.

“Mr. Essex! Jack’s sick!” Was all the girl could articulate. Her sob was cut short as she opened the line for receiving.  

“Like I said, I was going to find them a cure if I could.” He repeated to Danse and only Danse. The corner of Danse’s mouth ticked up into a slight smile. X6 relaxed slightly and squeezed the receiver.

“Alice, are you safe now?”  He asked.  The radio crackled as the line was picked up once again.  Alice was still crying, albeit a little less forcefully.

“Ma said Jack is sick, really really sick,”  she sobbed, “Pa and Jack aren’t coming back unless he gets better or…” Alice’s words mixed together in a heartbroken wail.  Danse analyzed X6’s actions, trying to predict what he’s going to do.  The Institute was known for ignoring and (even harming) those in the wasteland, simply for existing.  There’s no way that an emotionless killer could have seen any reason for comforting this child, let alone trying to cure their son’s mysterious illness.  X6 kept calm.

“Alice, your brother’s condition is treatable.  There’s a cure in the ruins of D.C. and I told your mother and grandmother that I would go there to find it for him.”  He said to the radio, releasing the receiver. He braced himself for whatever would follow. He wasn't used to stuff like this, not for decades. Danse tilted his head, still standing over X6.

“You’re really doing that?” He asked in a way that X6 didn't know if it was genuine or condescending, “I didn't think Coursers had-” the radio crackled to life.

“You’re gonna save Jack? Where are you? You’re not playing a trick on me are you?” Alice’s tiny voice reverberated through the radio.  Whatever X6 anticipated never came. He relaxed a little bit more.

“I’m not lying, Alice. I’m on the border of Massachusetts and Connecticut.”  Alice’s cries solidified into sniffling.

“Thank you, Mr. Essex,” She said, “This really means so much to me.”

Danse loomed over X6.

“We have more pressing matters, X6. We were almost ambushed, this girl gave away our location. Even though we outran the Gunners, they’re still alerted to our existence,” He stated. _Don't throw out the radio_ , X6 thought. _Don’t leave her in the dark._ He sat up a little straighter, draining whatever meager emotion was present in his body, and squeezed the radio.

“However Alice, you called during a very inopportune time for me. I was trying to sneak away from a gang of Gunners and I just narrowly escaped.” He said firmly. “I am fine with keeping you updated on successful retrieval of Jack’s medicine, but I request that you do not call me under any circumstances.  When it’s safe, I will call you.”  He looked up to Danse nodding. “Will you do this, Alice?”

There was a slight pause before she picked up again.

“Yessir, Mr. Essex,” she answered. “You will tell me what’s happening, right?”  Another voice murmured in the background.  “Yes, Ma!” She said distantly, before the receiver klunked off, hitting a table miles away.

“Yes, Alice. Thank you. ” Another Nordhagen picked up the radio.

“That’s the first time she stopped crying all evening. Thank you for doing this, X6.” Said Carey Nordhagen. “But it's time for bed in the Nordhagen household. Stay out of trouble. Over and out. ” X6 didn't get to say anything before the line went dead. He turned off his own radio, the glow of the Nixie tubes fading in the darkness of the abandoned house. The warmth from the fire cast a comforting light on the two silent men in the dusty living room. They sat slouched, unmoving, thinking. The logs crackled, somewhere, a feral dog howled in the night.  The servos of Danse’s armor whirred as he shifted.

“I’ll be damned. You really care about them,” said Danse. X6 felt himself return to his body after an unaware trance. He bolted upright, remembering the image of himself he meant to project to others.  Professional. Serious. _Tense_.

“What of it?” X6 snapped, shoving the radio into his knapsack. Danse looked insultingly relaxed, especially in power armor.

“I never would have thought an Institute synth would be willing to risk his life for that of a settler. Much less a _heartless_ courser,” the soldier smirked. X6 wrinkled his nose involuntarily.

“Likewise I never saw you Brotherhood goons helping out farms, only taking.” He retorted. Danse’s jovial grin was quickly replaced with a stern frown.

“The Brotherhood never-nnnnnh!” he fumbled over his words. “Look-I don't understand why you of all people would make a journey- _with your kind’s sworn enemy_ -to save some civilian’s kid?” Danse asked.

“Why did you ask me to join you?” X6 asked rhetorically. Danse shot daggers.

“That’s not the point!” He dodged.  X6 took a deep breath and memories of Nordhagen’s beach flooded back. The early days, right after he, in his melancholy, figured there was nothing better to do that spend the rest of his days exiled in a shipwreck near the monument to the downfall of his ignorance. The only ones on the beach were him, Lauren, Will, and James Nordhagen, and mirelurks as far as the eye can see. _They were doomed._ He exhaled.

“The Nordhagen’s farm provides a large amount of the Commonwealth with its produce. Without them, Boston could fall into a famine. Caravans frequent the homestead, which they were kind enough to let me order from.” He said, straight faced.  “In exchange, I prevent their family from being harmed. We came to this agreement the first time a band of raiders tried to steal their crop.”  Danse didn't buy it. He leaned back and folded his arms, raising a scarred eyebrow.

“What do you want me to say, Danse? That I saw the Nordhagens’ cat and I wanted to pet it?” X6 exasperated. _That’s also correct_. “I find it disrespectful how incompetent you seem to think I am.” Not knowing what else to do, he dug through his bag in an effort to look busy. Danse exhaled.

“Ok. Sure.” He scanned the room, trying to find a new subject. The fire purred in the hearth.  His companion had gathered a few carrots from his bag and was peeling them. “It's getting late. We should probably eat and turn in.” X6 nodded but didn't look up.

They made what could be considered soup. Or, X6 made the soup and Danse coerced X6 into giving him some in exchange for supplying cubed cram as an ingredient. They ate in silence, on the floor of someone else’s home. The fire died down to a warm pile of embers. Danse had taken to flipping through _The New Commonwealth Pocket Book of Philosophy_. X6 traced the faded yellow cover with this eyes. The paperback was old but lovingly handled, spine cracked from wear but no obvious tears in the pages.  It was familiar, after all, he originally saw it in the backpack of his ex-Director, two decades prior. He was fuming silently from the conversation earlier.  Several months of journeying with his ex-Director lead him to decades of self doubt and questioning. The institute and the brotherhood agreed on one thing: that synths were merely things, incapable of sentient thought. X6 believed it wholeheartedly until he was ordered to serve as the ex-Director’s personal bodyguard. She was capable in battle and insisted on doing most of the wetwork herself, rendering him redundant. However, instead of rejecting him And returning to the Institute once their task was complete, the ex-Director asked him what he wanted to do during their time on the surface together.

“I have no strong feelings one way or another,” he was trained to say, if he had to be asked. He insisted he had no opinion. He was trained to not think. She never believed it, and certainly never behaved the same way as his superiors would in regards to treating synths.  She was always irritatingly casual, to the dismay of the directorate.  She had to be told a number of times to not strike up anything more than smalltalk with the gen 3s around the institute.   _They are not programmed to hold conversation. You’re wasting your time expecting anything more from them._ He’d return to the SRB, afraid of thinking that he’s afraid of thinking. X6 started forming a sense of self in secrecy, the only person he’d reveal it to was the one person who wouldn't dare wipe him- the ex-Director. After her betrayal, he was left with a head full of thoughts and no one he was safe sharing them with. He tried to push it all back, insist once again that he is but programmed to behave as Unit X6-88 and that unit only. Thinking about thinking made his mind fill with staticky pins and needles, which stung when prodded.

 

He figured maybe he could will himself to return to his normal state of emotional neutrality. _Is it normal to be this tense?_   Danse was still in his armor.

“Do you normally sleep in that?” X6 asked. Danse was genuinely puzzled by the question. He looked down at himself, trying to figure out what the other man meant.

“Like what?” He replied.

“Using power armor as pajamas.” X6 deadpanned.

“Oh! I wear power armor so much it's like a second skin to me. Well it honestly depends, if I can't find shelter for the night I cover myself in shrubbery and sleep in armor,” he rambled. X6 tuned out the rest of his rant. He pursed his lips, suppressing a frown.   _I was trying to make a joke_. He thought power armor was genuinely cool, but he was glad he didn't have to constantly lug around a half ton suit of steel. X6 was more of a man of stealth and surprise, but there were times he wish he had the brute force of a nuclear powered exoskeleton.

“...I would say this shelter is safe enough to sleep without armor, but that’s not an excuse to let my guard down,” Danse concluded. With that, he set his empty bowl down, stood up, and exited the power armor. He seemed to stumble a bit on the way out, swiftly adjusting to the height difference.

“But that’s not all,” he said. Danse jimmied the fusion core out of the suit and tossed it into his satchel.  “Always remove the power source. An empty set of powered armor is an invitation for cocky raiders.  Frankly, it's not good armor etiquette.”  Danse poked the rest of the fire out and laid down on his bedroll. The empty armor loomed over him, but Danse found it comforting. Protective. X6 rolled over, trying to keep the silhouette out of his field of vision. The mass of it didn't sit well in his stomach. Ominous.

At least they weren't cold or hungry.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: How sneaky can you be in power armor?
> 
> The Nordhagens' cat in question is named Roy.  
> I plan on posting chapter 4 when I finish writing chapter 5.  
> Is the story going too slow? I feel like it might be too slow?


	4. Vingettes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you need help with that?” X6 asked flatly. Danse nearly jumped out of his armor, forgetting entirely about the other man while engrossed in his cake puzzle. Frozen like a deer in the headlights, Fancy Lads in a death grip in his fortified hands.

Rays of dawn sunlight seeped through the cracked windows of the abandoned house. Motes of dust danced in the glow. Warmth caressed Danse’s face, waking him. The X-01 power armor watched over him like a protective golem. However shiny, the reflecting light momentarily blinded him as he propped himself up on his bedroll. X6 was still asleep, in his own sleeping bag opposite him. Danse hadn't gotten a good look at the house when they decided to camp out here, as it was already after dark and most pre war houses do not have power anymore. The room they slept in was the largest on the first floor, still furnished, with an entrance to the kitchen and a stairway to the second floor. Under him was once a glistening hardwood floor, decades of weathering stripping the varnish to a dull, dry matte. Before him, A mildewed loveseat and coffee table accompanied a small television. There were even flaking books solidified to the table. _To think this was someone’s living room._ No pictures hung on the walls to indicate who all of this belonged to, in its place were bare, rusted nails. Danse stood up and stretched out. His companion remained sound. After 200 years, the floorboards weren't too squeaky.  He may as well explore, the original homeowners may have left behind something of use.

The kitchen was nothing remarkable. The appliances were long unused, and a spare toaster wouldn't be worth bringing along the journey. The refrigerator yielded nothing more than plastic bags of unidentifiable dried crud. The door was adorned with many plastic magnets, some of which held faded photographs. One showed the smiling faces of a man, a woman, and a boy. The three were huddled close, nearly squished inside the frame. The child’s eyes were closed, captured mid-laugh. They seemed to be illuminated by candlelight. Danse gently removed the picture and flipped it over. On the back was the neat print of a proud parent.

_“Rami’s 11th birthday, 2076.”_

There were few desirable shelf-stable goods left in the cupboards. Anything that hadn't been eaten by flour beetles centuries ago was sub par. Danse weighed his options. There was dog food (nutritious but disgusting), green beans (hold your nose and it goes down easier), and tinned tuna (it’s more fun to get the stomach flu). Danse pushed aside the rusting cans, revealing the holy grail of shelf stable pastries: a single unopened box of Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. He pocketed the package with glee. The family who used to live there had a variety of useless  goods in their junk drawer. What he could gather from the various papers and address books, they seemed to have carry out menus from every conceivable restaurant in northern Connecticut and would often host company. _Neighbors coming over at 6. Take the roast out of the oven at 4. Love you honey._ Danse was able to dig out a pack of playing cards and few bent bottle caps, all of which advertised some mass-produced, pre-war light beer. He didn't know if X6 could play poker, but at least he could occupy himself with solitaire if his usual reading material wasn't distracting him well enough.

Once Danse had exhausted anything interesting from the kitchen, he figured it would be worth exploring the second story of the house. He looped back around into the living room, it was now fully morning and the room was soaked in yellow. X6 was still asleep. Danse carefully threaded up the stairs, trying to avoid his usually leadfooted thuds. Two bedrooms and an office. The first bedroom was the child’s.  Faded posters half-peeled from the walls and destroyed comic books littered the floor. The child seemed to have a knack for drawing, as showed by the colored pencils on his bedside table and little pots of dried up paint on his desk. Danse wandered around the room, treating each section like an art exhibit. The desk was dusty but left perfectly intact for 200 years. A single clear space was presented in the middle, with notebooks, pens, and textbooks haphazardly pushed aside to make way. In the middle were neatly aligned tins of paint, with several tiny brushes. Before that was a pile of bottlecaps, identical to the ones in the junk drawer, save for being unbent. Danse picked up a bottle cap. The back was unaltered but the inside gasket of the closure had been painted over, displaying a tiny image of an alien on a spacecraft. Danse overturned another cap. This time, the painting was of an old superhero in a black coat and grey scarf. One by one, he examined each tiny painting. Underneath the pile of bottlecaps was a torn out notebook page, displaying proudly at the top “ _Rami's Handpainted Bottlecaps_.” The child had developed a plan to make and sell his bottle caps as a means of making a meager income. Danse collected the bottlecaps and tucked them into his breast pocket, away from his other caps. He couldn't bring himself to leave them there but also couldn't use them as money. The child made a gallery that could fill a pocket.

The rest of the floor was fairly uneventful. The bedroom was nothing more interesting than 200 year old undergarments and the office had dried up typewriter ribbons. A spare pair of boots would be handy. There was a collection of literature in the bedroom, but the books were all tacky romance novels. Deciding there was nothing more to look at, Danse retreated back downstairs. X6 was just barely awake, brushing his teeth.

“Rise and shine, partner,” greeted Danse. X6 glared at him unamused, then resumed washing up.

“If you’re looking for a new old pair of socks, I’d check out the closet upstairs,” he continued. Without looking at Danse, X6 stood up, walked over to the doorway with his toiletries, and spat out the toothpaste foam. He wiped his mouth and put his toothbrush and toothpaste back into his bag, all without acknowledging the other man. He’s been overthinking their conversation the night previously, unknowingly making himself angry again. Danse ran his hands through his hair nervously.

“Are you upset with me?” He asked. X6 looked up from pulling on his boots, feigning surprise.

“Shit, I forgot I have to care for you, too,” he deadpanned before tying the laces.

“Look I’m...” Danse found himself skirting around the words he knew he was supposed to say, “I’m sorry I underestimated you. In regards to your autonomy.” X6 froze, staring at his feet. Danse went wide eyed, realizing he struck a nerve in the stoic synth. _Spit it out, soldier!_

“I’m still trying to recognize my own…relevance to this world and if I am really _programmed_ to think in an unchanging way.” Danse confessed.

“Me too,” X6 muttered under his breath, feeling a little better.

“What was that?”

“I’m fine now, Danse,” X6 looked up, stern as ever. He slung on his jacket. “We should head out soon.”

***

The 90 west branched off to the 84 south, which was to travel through Hartford. The 84 was the beginning of the inter-Commonwealth caravan route and was to be much more trafficked.  Hartford was also the last major settlement before the ruins of New York City. Danse planned to stock up on medical supplies and non-expired food in the Connecticut capital. The journey around the irradiated wreck wasn't particularly hard, but spells doom for anyone caught in a radstorm without sufficient protection. If if the Glowing Sea’s storms were difficult, NYC may as well be a glowing ocean. For now, they trekked out in the open beneath a bright autumn sky. Fallen leaves crunched under their boots, misshapen and mutated from their original species generations ago. Danse had his blindingly shiny suit back on, X6 was thankful he always had sunglasses on hand.

“Isn't the power armor going to attract unwanted attention, seeing how well last night went with the Gunners?” X6 asked.

“You think it would, but the more civilized settlements seem to be unfazed by armor. Heck, the only major faction who seem to have a problem with it are the Brotherhood of Steel.” The soldier answered.

“How so?” X6 found himself probing unnecessarily.

“How do you think they got so many suits of armor? We’d- _they’d_ confiscate any set they found.”

“Why?” He asked almost involuntarily. _Uncharacteristic of a courser. Dangerous in a bad way._

“One of the core beliefs of the Brotherhood of Steel is that humanity’s downfall was due to their use of technology,” he looked over at X6 and smirked. “And if society was a whole was much smarter and more trustworthy with technology before the war, then by default anyone now can't be trusted with tools of destruction.”

Danse paused and looked away.

“I’m fine as long as _they_ don't recognize me,”  he sighed.

 When their shadows were directly under them, Danse slyly reached into his bag and pulled out the box of Fancy Lads. X6 spied the familiar pink box out of the corner of his eye. He suddenly became aware of his empty stomach at the sight of the sweets, realizing he hadn't eaten since the previous night. Not to mention Fancy Lads were his favorite surface food. They tasted so good 200 years after shelf life, it was hard to imagine how much better they’d be when fresh. X6’s stomach grumbled. Danse fumbled with the boxtop, trying to pry open the delicate paperboard without squishing the product in his armored gloves. It was to no avail. He considered just ripping the box in two.

“Do you need help with that?” X6 asked flatly. Danse nearly jumped out of his armor, forgetting entirely about the other man while engrossed in his cake puzzle. Frozen like a deer in the headlights, Fancy Lads in a death grip in his fortified hands.

“Wrestle with the box any longer and you’ll crush the cakes,” stated X6. He held out his hand. The armored man slowly gave up his sweets, placing the package in X6’s waiting palm. Effortlessly, he slipped a gloved finger under the box top, separating the brittle glue from the paperboard in one slide. He reached inside, pulling out the cellophane wrapped inner tray, which cradled 9 pristine, pastel frosted pastries. Danse’s eyes went wide, he hadn't found such a beautiful collection of sweets since his time at Lynn’s farm. X6 pulled back the film and plucked out the first cake, a blue one, and handed the rest to Danse.

“Hey! What are you doing? Those are mine!” He scolded. X6 took a bite and glared.

“If I let you open the box yourself, the Fancy Lads would be crumbs on the ground.” He scoffed, mouth full of cake.  “The least you could let me do is have one.  I like these things too, you know.”  Danse selected his own cake, an orange one.  

“I guess it's better this way, I normally eat the whole box myself within 5 minutes,”  Danse shrugged, his metal shoulders heaving comically.  X6 found himself curious again.

“I would have figured the Brotherhood as being a very health conscious organization,” he stated, finishing his pastry.

“Efforts to get fresh produce were rarely successful.  Best you could do is eat canned peas with your regulation MRE and hope you don’t get scurvy.  Lynn said you Institute folks would eat weird stuff.”  He made a mixing motion with his hands, “Food slurries, kinds of all-in-one reconstituted mush.”

“How is a nutrition supplement any different than a MRE?”  X6 jeered as stiffly as possible.

“You can _kind of_ tell what the MRE was, at one point,”  Danse laughed and offered the tray back to X6. The box was gone in five minutes.

***

Hartford was less of a settlement and more of a caravan outpost.  What was once the state government of Connecticut had been concentrated into one very packed community centered around the city hall. Those who dwelled there took advantage of the coastal trade routes. Hartford was the gate to the irradiated region that was once New York, and most of the citys income came from caravans who needed a place to stay and radiation poisoning to stave off. Shops huddled close to each other, all advertising the same supplies. Stimpaks, rad-away, needlessly expensive booze, you name it.  Pre-war puffery never fully went away.

“Last stop for miles! Stock up on rad-x before the crater!” One crier shout from the checkpoint outside the main street.

“Don't listen to him! Our rad-x is the best! Guaranteed to keep you radiation free!  Or your money back!”  Hawked another from the same point.

“Can't take up that offer if you’re already dead!” His rival yelled back. A guard slumped over in the information booth beside the main gate, fast asleep. Security in Hartford seemed lax at best.  Danse leaned into the windowed booth. The guard had her helmet pulled over her eyes and cradled a shotgun in her arms. She snored softly, propped up uncomfortably in the dingy office chair behind the cracked bulletproof glass. Plastered on the booth wall behind her were two maps: one pristine map of the east coast caravan route and one grimy paper road map of pre-war Connecticut. Various notes had been added throughout the years, including a huge red circle indicating the ruins of New York City. There was a small bell on the counter in front of the glass. Forgoing the most obvious course of action, Danse knocked on the booth window to get her attention.  The guard woke with a start, falling out of her chair.

“Knock it off, tin can!  You’ll break the glass!” She shouted, climbing back onto the office chair and scooting it up to the window.  The guard tilted her helmet back to survey the huge scruffy guy in power armor and the tall creepy man in the leather jacket.  The guard leaned into the window near the little hole used for speaking.  
“Y’all don’t look like raiders, what do you need?”  She asked cautiously.  “You’re not in the Brotherhood, are you?”  The two were quick to disagree.

“My partner and I,” Danse pointed casually to X6, who seemed to be taken aback by the language. “Are traveling around New York City in the next few days.  How much rad-x would you expect to use in that region?”  He said to the guard.  She leaned in further and scratched her chin in an exaggerated notion of thinking.  

“What, you couldn’t get your buddy a set of armor for himself?”  She scoffed.

“Without power armor I’m just as-if not more-capable than my cohort,” X6 interjected.  Danse shot him a glare, to which X6 reciprocated his own smug poker face.  The guard didn’t know what to make of the miniature stand-off.

“Anyway it takes most folks 2 days with heavy radiation protection through the outskirts of NYC.” She reached under the counter and slapped a paper map in front of the two travelers. The guard clicked out a pen and drew a sweeping arc across the greater New York City area.

“Take the 87 south as you can and cross the Hudson.  Might want to try a ferry.” She outlined in red pen “You’ll need a good hazmat suit and three bottles of rad-x, tops.”

Danse compared it to his own map, which was significantly off by hundreds of miles. She pointed to the homemade map.

“Nah see, if you take that old caravan route it’ll take you an extra week, two weeks to get around the city.”

X6 gently picked up the map, tracing it with a finger.

“Can we take the map?” Danse asked.

“Everyone knows the wasteland is _full_ of working copy machines, Danse,” deadpanned X6. Danse knit his brows together, not sure if his partner was being serious.  The eternal poker face gave no indication.

“Yeah, you can. I got hundreds of those things,” without taking her eyes off the two, reached under the counter and hauled the box of maps onto it.  X6 folded the map neatly into quarters and tucked it into his coat pocket. Danse thanked the guard and bid farewell.

The caravaneers didn’t pay them mind entering the Main Street, save for a few suspicious glances at Danse’s armor.  The biggest tell was that the armor was unmarked, a blank slate. _Anonymous._  While the Brotherhood of Steel maintained a code of ethics based on its Codex, the interpretation of it varied greatly from chapter to chapter. While some folks welcomed the extra protection, a lot of them saw the Brotherhood as nothing more than high-tech imperialists. It wasn't uncommon to hear that an east coast chapter was distributing food and clean water to local settlements, when a west coast chapter was stopping caravans to confiscate any property deemed too dangerous for the general populous.  Naturally, settlements are cautious when dealing with the BoS, in fear of being on the wrong end of a Gatling laser. Danse was still sore from his initial exile. All he ever was was stripped away and never fully healed. What he was most proud of had been protecting mankind from itself. He figured the only way he might be able to move on would be to distance himself from what was familiar in the BoS. Lynn gave him new clothes and a place to stay after being disowned from his found family. She took great care in avoiding mention of the Brotherhood and its insignia. Danse was grateful for her support.

He still needed to make sure his suit was rad-resistant enough in case they run out of rad-x. He tried his best to scope out a public workbench but all of the shops looked too similar. Hartford was jammed with commerce. Caravaneers led their Brahmins down the street, criers hawked supplies, and mercenaries advertised their services. Anything that wasn't nailed down was just passing through. X6 turned to Danse as he searched for a welding stand.

“Unless you have room for two in that armor of yours, I need to acquire a hazmat suit.”  Danse made a waving gesture suggesting surprise but ultimately didn't speak.

“You know what, I won't even bother,” he sighed. “Yes, you should get one-”

“I was not asking for permission, I was stating what I plan to do,” X6 said curtly before immediately turning and disappearing into the crowd. Danse was left alone in search of a blowtorch.

 ***

“I-I won't go lower th-than 200 caps,” the shopkeepers voice wavered. Sweat beaded on his brow.

“I think you can,” demanded X6. X6 scoped out a clothing store that happened to sell hazmat suits. Despite being the cheapest hazmat suits in Hartford, he still had to haggle to push the price into a range he could actually afford. It wasn't hard for him to be threatening.

_Step 1: Stand up straight._

_Step 2: Speak in a polite yet firm monotone._

_Step 3: Do not break eye contact._

X6 had been staring down the shopkeeper for more than 5 minutes now.  He was skittishly dabbing at the sweat dripping down his face.

“175 caps is my final offer, and I’ll _give_ you uhhh-” the shopkeeper looked around his shack furiously, searching for something to make the creepy man leave. He grabbed the first thing he saw from the coat rack. “-This lovely hat!” X6 said nothing and glared at the man before finally coming to a decision.

“Deal,” He concluded and counted out 175 caps. The shopkeeper sighed and scurried away to ring him up. The rest of the money he tucked away in his pocket. He could afford the suit well over 3 minutes ago, but he kept pushing just to see how much he could scare the man. X6 scooped up the suit and folded it neatly into his backpack.

 ***

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the clouds oranges and purples. Danse found a workbench and was able to make the changes to his armor as needed. However, the cost of materials was steep, leaving him with fewer caps than he was comfortable with. Danse still had the pocket full of painted caps, but he didn't want to dip into those unless it was really needed. He hadn't spotted X6 since the two split up, but figured the other man was more likely to find him than the other way around. With an airtight suit and a satchel full of rad-x, he took his time searching for his cohort.Danse ambled through the street, careful not to bump into anyone. Your sense of proportion is severely displaced when in a suit, so what would normally be a harmless nudge could come out to be a full-blown bodycheck. There was a commotion at a nearby food stall. The guard from earlier sat, beer in hand, at the bar. She was boisterously laughing at the bartender’s joke. Danse tapped her on the shoulder. She practically jumped off the stool.

“Beat it, tin can, I’m off duty!” She barked.

“Excuse me miss, do you remember the man I was with?” Asked Danse. The bartender shot her a glare. The guard figured dealing with the power armored tool was better than having to get banned from another stall for starting a fight. Again.

“What, you got amnesia or something?” The guard eyed him and took a swig. He knit his brow together.

“I do not have amnesia,” stated Danse. “I wanted to know if you have seen where he might have gone?”

“Cyberpunk looking freak, right? Saw him down by the city hall. Taverns and inns and shit.” She informed Danse. It was a lead if any.

“What could he want with a tavern?” He asked to himself. The guard took another drink from her bottle. The bartender was eyeing Danse now.

“You gonna buy something or get out?” She asked rhetorically.

“Miss, what is your name?” Danse asked the guard.

“It’s Esther, but _my girlfriend_ isn't a fan of power armor.”

“Esther, thank you so much for the information.  You’ve been really helpful today.” He promptly continued down the street, towards city hall. The bartender loomed over the guard, tapping on the counter. _Pay or get out._

“Wait! You could settle my tab!” Esther called to the street.

 ***

Danse found X6-88 in the lobby of some nearly nameless inn, reading a previously discarded newspaper. _The Wasteland Connected_ , a newspaper produced in conjunction with Boston’s own _Publick Occurrences_ , was a weekly paper listing news stories from around New York, New Jersey, and Connecticut tri-waste area. X6 was scanning through an investigative report about deathclaws and their subspecies across the country. _Deathclaws from the Glowing Sea tend to be solitary creatures, whereas those found in the New California Republic travel in packs._ The paper was a few weeks out of date, but X6 figured the information most likely held up. Mass mutation in an animal as widespread as the deathclaw would be a nonexistent threat. _Deathclaws found in the ruins of New York City tend to be significantly larger than most species, as well as having long, pronounced horns reminiscent of their ancestor, Jackson’s chameleon._  Danse trudged up to him, his metal boots thumping the inn’s creaky floor. X6 didn't look up from the paper.

“Hurray, you found me,” he said flatly. Danse threw his satchel on the lobby’s coffee table, medical supplies spilled out. “Hope I didn't make the scavenger hunt too easy.”

“Why did you leave me like that?” Danse chided. “You can't just disappear mid-sentence, it's-”

“Disrespectful?” X6 responded, raising an eyebrow as his only acknowledgment.  Danse sighed, running a hand through his hair. Fair point.

“I see you patched up the armor. I got the hazmat suit,” stated X6, still nose deep in the distribution map of deathclaws. _A popular myth in the Midwest is that hairy deathclaws lurk deep in the woods._ Danse was grateful at his proactivity.

“Excellent, it would be best to also-”

“I got the room already,” interrupted X6, producing a key from his pocket. “This inn has indoor plumbing. I strongly recommend you utilize it.”

The innkeeper threatened to charge an extra fee just because of the suit of armor, but X6 was able to talk him down the same way he did for the hazmat suit. In the end, Danse agreed to let the inn keep the suit in a storage closet, because no matter how much intimidation and negotiation, the inn’s rickety wooden stairs can't handle a half ton of solid steel. X6 had already put his things in the room. Second floor. Third on the right. It was surprisingly nice for a post-war hotel room. The walls were bare but otherwise not leaking. There was more plumbing in the tiny bathroom then there was in most Bostonian settlements. The most glaring setback, however, was that there was only one bed. Danse kicked off his boots haphazardly and plopped onto the bed, next to X6’s satchel.

“I suppose one of us could sleep on a bedroll,” he lilted, tracing the pattern on the blanket with his finger. X6 pulled off his shoes and neatly aligned them at the door.

“I paid for the room. Therefore the bed is mine,” he demanded. Danse dug around the remainder of his caps.

“The room was 40 caps, correct?” He counted out half that and dropped it next to X6’s backpack before laying down fully on the bed. X6 scoffed.

“I still paid for half the room. Therefore half the bed is mine.”  With that, he neatly placed his own things on the floor and sat down on the bed next to his companion. X6 was taller than most humans but was nowhere near the bulk of Danse, one of the few synths taller than him. He was so used to looking down at surface dwellers that he almost found it insulting to have someone else physically loom over him. _Ugh._ Nothing he could do about that, though. There was still just enough room left on the bed for him to lay sideways.  There was one other, more obvious thing he found insulting.

“Shit, Danse, you smell terrible,” he complained. “Take a damn shower.”

 ***

X6 sat in the lobby of the hotel, feeling the need to give his companion some personal space.  Rather, He wanted his _own_ personal space.  Danse was currently staring at the water dripping down the corner of the shower stall, trying as hard as possible to stop hating himself for just a few minutes.  X6 had finally coerced him into removing the filth that had accumulated on him during weeks of near constant armor usage. Danse’s jumpsuit was draped over a chair in the corner of the room to dry. A bar of soap had been taken to most of his clothes in an effort to deodorize those, too.  X6, trying to relax, put his feet up on the coffee table before him, accidentally kicking aside the newspaper from earlier.  The radio fell out of X6’s pocket, softly thumping on the wooden floorboards. He bent over to pick it back up.  The silver device felt surprisingly heavy in his hand, the nixie tubes on top gleamed like crystal.  It had been a day and a half since Alice had contacted him during the gunner fight, and while he was never one for smalltalk, he figured he should at least keep his promise that he would update her on the retrieval of jack's cure. X6 set the dials to the Nordhagen's frequency, the tubes lighting up.  He squeezed the receiver.

"Come in Nordhagens.  This is X6, is anyone there?" He asked to the radio.  There was a long  moment of silence.  He repeated the message again.  This time, the line crackled open. The sound waves vibrated in his hand.

"Hello Mr. Essex?"  Alice picked up the radio.  "What's going on?" She seemed sullen but otherwise in a much better mental state than she had been last time.  Alice was worried sick for her brother, but the promise that he would be saved made her hopeful.  In the meantime, she continued to have the ups and downs that any ten year old child would have.  

"Good afternoon, Alice and anyone else who is listening," He responded. "I am currently in the settlement known as Hartford, Connecticut.  Tomorrow we shall be heading out to the wreckage of New York City."  The moment he clicked off, half of Alice's astonishment came through.

"Wow! New York?  I hear that place is like the Glowing Sea but way scarier!"  She exclaimed.  

"New York was the hardest hit city during the great war.  It will be much more dangerous than the Glowing Sea."  X6 said coolly.  He already had the hazmat suit, there was nothing left for him to do to prepare himself.

"Are you afraid?"  asked Alice. X6 paused.  He hadn't really thought about that.  Sure, the Glowing Sea was dangerous, too.  He'd been there enough times to know what's expected in the radiation.  Coursers are meant to be the toughest weapons the Institute has to offer.  To do their job, they had to have no mercy.  To have no mercy, they had to have no feelings.   _Glowing Sea?  Just another day trudging through the muck known as the Commonwealth._  Coursers could show no fear.  X6 didn't know if they were programmed not to or if it was just ingrained in their training, an impermanent message.  The first time he went to the Glowing Sea, he wouldn't admit, he was hesitant.  Synths were modeled after humans to be physically superior to them, but even the volatile air of the Glowing Sea had the habit of destroying the insides of his fellow coursers.  But the Glowing Sea was merely a tidepool to the wreck of New York City.  X6 skirted around the question.

"I have the situation under control."  

This time he was afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: I'm trying to think of a clever way to point out that there's cake and bed sharing
> 
> Welp it looks like I've nearly caught up to my already written chapters. This thing is looking way longer than I originally anticipated but I got a good thing going here. I'll try to stick to a Thursday update schedule for the rest of the story but I honestly can't make any concrete promises.  
> What do y'all think?


	5. Loaner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It all keeps going back to 'I think, therefore I am'. I am what? A fraud?!”

Danse was awoken abruptly by the floor as it met his face. Or rather, he found himself on the floor and was woken up by the feeling of the rest of his body catching up with him. Room spinning, he felt his way back to the bed. He figured must have rolled over a bit too far and fell off. Danse tucked himself under the warm covers and returned to his slumber.

And then X6 kicked him off the bed again.

***

The room was too bright. The labs were always kept bright, makes it easier to see what the scientists were doing. Encourages productivity and wakefulness, as well. The SRB used the bright lights for uncovering the truth. X6 wanted his glasses back. He wouldn't get them back. X6 was in the SRB’s observation room, surrounded by scientists. He was there not as a worker, but as a specimen. Justin Ayo stood before him, eclipsing the fluorescent track lights ahead.  

“Unit X6-88, as your immediate director I demand you tell me the Director’s plan regarding the dissolution of the Institute and the _theft_ of synths.” Ayo ordered.

They always called it ‘theft’, as if the Director was stealing her synths. They were hers after all, after Father appointed her the Director. X6 was personally appointed to accompany her outside of the Institute. He didn't agree with the majority of her viewpoints, but the Director could handle her own in combat. He could respect that.  He was supposed to respect that.  Most out of place was how she seemed to treat him as an equal. Over time, X6 avoided questioning whether he was loyal to the Institute or just to the Director.

X6 squirmed, but he was held firmly in place by two of his fellow coursers. Everything about this was too bright. The scene felt too cramped to happen. X6 felt like he was a square peg being shoved into a too-small round hole. He was feeling, and _that's_ what felt off. _Everyone was on to him_. The shadows stretched Ayo’s face and made him look more like a caricature than a man.

“Where is the Director?” X6 asked as calmly as possible.  Ayo’s eyes widened.

“You are not to speak out of turn.  You are to answer my question.” He scowled.

“I don't know anything about the Director’s plans. I simply travel with her.” X6 confessed.  The scientists weren't buying his lie.  His mind told him to not show anything as he was meant to, but a lump formed in his throat anyway. _Everyone was on to him._ Ayo simply scowled harder.

“You are not to lie to me, Unit X6-88. Tell me what you have conspired with the Director.” X6 involuntarily pulled away from the scientist.

“I have not conspired with the Director! I do not know anything!” He found himself shouting. Ayo scrutinized him, then turned around and whispered to the scientists. X6 tried his best to catch what they discussed.

_“One of the best coursers….”_

_“...you really believe that?!...”_

_“...I’m sure he had nothing to do with…”_

X6 relaxed a little, hoping he was off the hook. Maybe his reputation and high standing would appeal to the jury. Ayo turned around and looked through X6, at the other coursers.

“This one has been traveling with the Director. Whether it realizes it or not, unit X6-88 has picked up on the mannerisms of the Director.  Send it to be wiped.”

_Shit._ X6 kicked at his captors, twisting in an effort to free himself.  One of the coursers injected a chem into his neck, the relaxant used to calm synths taken to the chair _awake_.

“Where is the Director?!” He cried. He felt his limbs slowly give up on him. The other coursers didn't say anything. Ayo turned back around to his congregation.

“I want reports of any gen three synths the Director came in contact with in the past 4 months. Send them into evaluations and wipe those who she has influenced.” He commanded. One of the scientists piped up.

“Sir, is that really necessary?” She asked meekly.

“It is standard protocol to wipe any synths who came into contact with dissenters.” Ayo said curtly. With that, the coursers dragged X6 to the chair.

“I want to see the Director!” He was screaming, trying as hard as possible to get his limbs to cooperate. All he could do was limply twist in his peer’s arms.  The room was spinning. A strong hand forced his chest down, back meeting cold metal. He couldn't move. The room was spinning faster and faster, and all too bright.

***

Back on the road again. The highway south was fairly safe still, having not yet diverted from the caravan route that was normally taken past the irradiated zone. The two were still far from the actual crater, so neither were suited up beyond their usual duds. Almost. X6 had donned the ushanka hat that he scared off the shopkeeper the previous day.

“Why are you wearing that hat?” Asked Danse, feeling the need to question anything that isn't automatically deemed regulation in his mind.

“If you’re really too dense to notice, it’s autumn and my ears are cold.” X6 replied.

“But where did you get it? I did not see you pack that hat initially.”

“I got it when I purchased the hazmat suit.” X6 pulled the hat further over his ears. “If you’re really so inclined to know, this hat was free.”  Danse bit his tongue. He was never really good at smalltalk, especially if it wasn't related to the Brotherhood or fighting. He decided to get to the root of the matter.

“Why did you keep kicking me last night? Bad dream or do you really hate me that much?”  X6 stopped. Those mind wipe dreams. They aren't recurring. Or at least, he hadn't had a mind-wipe dream since before the Institute was destroyed. When he woke up this morning, the fear of the erasure of his entire being was fresh as it had been since his days as a courser. Even this morning, it took him a few moments to calm down and realize nobody was going to snatch him like he was ordered to do for hundreds of other synths.

It wasn't until Danse was a few yards in front of him till he realized was frozen. X6 picked up the pace to catch up.

“You produce a lot of body heat, Danse,” he lied. “I was trying to remove the blankets.”

“I guess the blankets were on my stomach. Repeatedly.”

***

“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” X6 broke the silence. “Why do you have that philosophy book?”  Danse seemed astonished at first.

“I visited Lynn a while back when I asked her to make this journey with me. She said that she couldn't help me physically so she gave me that book. Or rather, she insisted it was a loaner but I kept telling her I probably wasn't coming back.”  He explained.

“May I see the book?” X6 requested. Danse dug around in his disheveled bag before fishing out the vintage paperback.  X6 gently took it from him and got a good look. _The New Commonwealth Pocket Book of Philosophy_ read the embossed black letters on a faded yellow cover. Roughly 300 pages in tiny, black text. The edges were chipping and the pages were weathered. The book gave a brief chronological account of western philosophy with various notes scribbled in the margin.  Some of the handwriting was Danse, a few notes were made by the ex-Director, but most of them were made by someone with unfamiliar handwriting. One particularly dog-eared entry was on Rene Descartes. X6 knew of this man. _Scientist, mathematician, and philosopher. Namesake of the Cartesian coordinate system. Important to the foundation of modern philosophy. Philosophy isn't a science. This book is useless._ On the title page was a message written in loopy ballpoint pen, dated 2063.

 

> _Nate-_
> 
> _Here is the next stage of your life.  We are so proud of you!  Your acceptance into CIT is the first step towards your legacy as one of the best biomedical engineers this world has to offer.  It will be tough.  You will want to quit.  None of these folks did!   Stay to your roots! Keep the world on the edge of its toes, make something good, and keep them pondering! Try not to overthink it, okay?_  
>  _Love,_ _  
> _
> 
> _Mom & Dad_

“And this book belonged to her, correct?” He asked. Danse nodded. “The inscription in the book is written to a pre-war human named Nate. This must have originally belonged to Lynn’s late husband.” X6 concluded.

Nate Brockway, Father’s father. _Engineering runs in the family._ X6 never met him, Conrad Kellogg killed him in front of the ex-Director, decades before he was made. X6 wished he had been there to see her revenge. Even in the Institute, Kellogg was famous for being a bastard. Ultimately, the inscription wasn't wrong. Nate Brockway did leave a legacy in the Commonwealth, in the form of the most famous director of the Institute. Nate seemed to be a little too much into non-scientific pursuits for X6’s liking.

“Lynn said it could help me out, let me clear my head a little. Except all the concepts are too dense and it just makes everything worse sometimes.”  X6 skimmed through the first few pages.

_Published 2048, Boston, Commonwealth of Massachusetts._ Danse gritted his teeth.

“It all keeps going back to _I think, therefore I am_ . I am what? A fraud?!” He strained.  X6 didn't react, engrossed in the book.  He knew Danse was furiously running his hand through his own hair like he always did when he was upset.   _He asked a question, didn’t he?_

“You think you’re a fraud?” X6 echoed.

“I think whatever your makers did to me…I can't live like this.”  His voice cracked. Danse clutched at his face, trying to cover up as much of his flushed cheeks and red eyes as he could. He tried to keep himself from crying.

“I wish I wasn't programmed to hate myself.” Danse croaked. X6 looked over at him. Tears dripped though his shaking fingers.  A trembling man in a suit of armor. The knight has defeated himself once again.

“ _Who_ would program you to hate yourself?” X6 asked. Danse tried his best to answer, but he only smothered his cry harder. X6 gingerly put his hand on the other man’s shivering shoulder.

“Listen, I am not good with words and to be honest you crying is unsettling and I really want you to stop.”  Danse did not stop. X6 took a deep breath. “However we still have nearly a week until we reach the capital. You will find out if you are who you think you are, or you are not. It would be best to save your over thinking until then.  You’re just hurting yourself more by worrying now.”

Danse let up on his face a little, wiping his cheeks with the back of his glove. X6 tapped his fingers on the steel plating of the armor. Something as close to as a comforting pat as he could manage.  His fingernails drummed dully against the solid steel.  The plating wasn't as hollow as X6 previously thought.  He offered the philosophy book back to Danse. 

“Will you return that book for me?” He whispered.

“No. _You’re_ going to return this book. It's collateral.”

***

X6 and Danse didn't need a Geiger counter in order to figure out that they were entering New York City. The sky gradually faded into a sickly green from miles off, prompting X6 to slip on the hazmat suit. Danse begrudgingly secured the X-01 helmet on, hermetically sealing himself inside the bird shaped armor. Danse felt as if he was an alien traveling with an astronaut. Both men were rendered faceless and hidden among the protective gear, prepared to face an extra terrestrial crater on their own planet.

Onto the breach, they wandered in until the air was thick with green smog. All bombs that fell here were focused directly on Manhattan, completely razing it. While most of the isotopes embedded in the soil have long since decayed to a less immediately fatal state, the safest non-irradiated humanoid creatures could venture in was on the outskirts of the Bronx.  They would have to pass through the borough in order to cross the Hudson River into New Jersey for a much safer route.

Further and further on, the buildings faded from being complete but otherwise rundown to fractured, blasted, to eventually burned away. Ruined architecture sprouted with grotesque gargoyles.  Plants grew in the mosaic cracks in the crumbled pavement. Huge, bizarre vines resembling no plants either men had seen before, bearing giant leaves peppered with what looked like bite marks.

“I know for certain that deathclaws can live in this environment,” began X6, muffled behind his reflective helmet. “However I am unsure of what else can survive here.”  He bent down and prodded the vine by his foot. It was thick and rope like, however the roots did not seem to be very deeply attached to the ground and gave way fairly easily.

“Whatever’s in there, I’d rather not find out,” concurred Danse. “We should follow the Hudson in case there’s a way to cross around here.”  The river was not hard to find. The water was a black broken mirror. Along the Hudson was a pier,  several boats were hooked to the docks.  If there was any way of crossing, the two would find it there.  There were shorter distances to cross in less radiated lands, but no matter how short, the river was still too deep for Danse to cross unless by a bridge or a boat.

“The ability of swimming is not expected of Brotherhood soldiers?” Asked X6, skeptical of his reasons.

“I never had to learn, back in the capital. When you grow up-” X6 shot him an indignant look behind his obscured visor. “-Surrounded by poisoned water, you become hesitant to jump in.”  Informed Danse. He sighed heavily. “Or at least, that’s what I was made to believe. Otherwise, armor is too heavy to swim in. Just sink right to the bottom.” He picked up a chunk of broken concrete and threw it into the river. It arched gracefully before plopping into the obsidian waves. The two were approaching the dock, but neither could shake the feeling they were being watched. _Did one of those gargoyles move?_ Something brown and fuzzy scurried across the road.  Both men reached for their rifles, however Danse was the only one to actually point his at the thing. It was a rodent, the size of a very rotund dog, with a bald tail that must have been more than twice the vermin’s body length.

“It's just a rat, Danse.” X6 reassured. The rat turned around and looked straight at them. The creatures red eyes pierced through the haze.

“Nothing to be worried about,” Danse joked halfheartedly. Out of the comer of his eye, a dark mass descended from the roof of the office building before them. Danse froze, unable to alert his companion. Slowly, the huge thing crept down the side of the brownstone using its huge claws and curly tail as a counterbalance. The beast was more than 15 feet long, with scaly slate grey skin and tubelike, independently moving eyes. Most prominently was the three long horns protruding from its face. Two, above the eyes, curved forward, and a singular long, incredibly sharp, blood encrusted horn on the monster’s snout. The New York Deathclaw.  It was true, the deathclaws in New York bore a disturbing resemblance to chameleons. Rather than being a beast easily distinguishable from its tiny ancestor, here the reptile was a grotesque parody of its harmless origin. The deathclaw had the sharpened claws of its namesake and the vertical maneuverability and alien appearance of the chameleon. Danse didn't want to stick around long enough to see if it also had color changing camouflage. As discreetly as he could he leaned towards X6 and whispered as quietly over his suit’s intercom as possible.

“Get to the dock.”

The beast sprang from the side of the building, descending upon the rat and nearly shoving it whole into its toothy maw. X6 bolted. Danse wasn't nearly as fast as the other man while in the armor. It was a trade off for being much more protected than a lead-lined jumpsuit. The deathclaw reared up, bloody rat hanging out of its jaws. One eye stay put on Danse, the other followed X6 as he ran behind the monster to the boats on the river.  Whatever fight this standoff would become, Danse knew he couldn't win by strength alone. The deathclaw’s blindspot was too small and dangerous. Danse changed headfirst into the monster, forcing all of his weight into an uppercut to the beast’s stomach. The deathclaw seemed unphased, forcing Danse down with both its huge arms. The deathclaw pinned him to the ground, rat still in its mouth, albeit nearly bitten in half now. The deathclaw sniffed Danse up and down, deciding whether artificial human was a better meal than rodent. He scanned for a distraction. The beast hand him by the chest, not the arms. Danse reached up and ripped the bottom half of the rat from his captor’s mouth and flung it as hard as he could behind him. The deathclaw scrambled back to its snack like a bizarre game of fetch. Danse fumbled to get up and ran to the docks. The pier was set low in comparison to the side road next to the river. A set of stone stairs led towards it that Danse elected to ignore. He jumped down the flight, landing with a tremendous thud that left cracks in the concrete pier. Several semi-wrecked ships remained tied to the dock, however one fully intact recreational boat was tied at the very stood at the controls for the boat, fiddling with the ignition. The boat had a plethora of nautical equipment strewn about the floor haphazardly, as well as a heap of blankets tucked away behind the control mechanisms.  Danse ran to to the end of the dock,  and boarded the boat.

“It won't start,” X6 shouted to him. Danse hadn’t shaken the deathclaw. It had followed his path and was now scrambling down the stone stairs. With one foot planted firmly inside, Danse kicked the whole boat away from the dock. He expect it to float away in the river’s current fairly easily, however the boat couldn't get more than 5 or so feet away, as neither man had untied the ship from the dock. Danse took the controls.

“I got this, you need to go untie the boat.”  X6 nodded and leaped back to the dock.. The boat was secured to the dock with a metal chain looped around a hook bolted to the pier. The deathclaw raced after him, ecstatic to find the rat was merely an appetiser. The boat strained against the current, held back by the chain. X6 unhooked the line and threw it back into the boat. X6 leaped out, but was pulled back by the deathclaw. The reptile had caught up to him.  He dangled over the water, one leg clutched by the beast. X6 kicked furiously at the monster’s hand, cursing, but his leg wouldn't budge.

_This is how it ends, eaten leg-first by a freakish lizard. Pathetic._

A burst of red obscured his helmeted vision. The monster screamed and let go, sending X6 headfirst into the cold water. Unable to see, he flung his limbs any which way in an effort to find exactly where up was. X6 surfaced, bobbing in the water at the will of his airtight suit. Danse threw down his rifle and slid to the edge of the boat.  Danse crouched down, holding out his arm. X6 paddled forward to latch on to his hand.

“I got you,” Danse effortlessly pulled him aboard the boat. “Are you ok?”  X6 flopped to the floor, porous exterior of the suit bogged down with water.

“Uncomfortably cold but otherwise unharmed.  Is it gone?” He gasped, unable to turn around. The deathclaw paced the dock, dissatisfied. A pile of equipment shuddered and clattered to the floor.

“Don't worry, they can't swim,” spoke a raspy voice that belonged to neither man.

Behind the controls, hidden from view, was a glowing one in a tattered sweater. He was covered in blankets and stretched, waking from a nap.

“And now you’re stranded on my ship.”  The ghoul yawned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: When someone tells you to stop overthinking but that just makes it worse.
> 
> I can't believe it took me this long to get into hurt/comfort territory. I'm flying by the seat of my pants from here on out. I kind of want to explore more of the stuff they talk about around the campfire or while walking, except I'm afraid it wouldn't have much substance beyond humorous fluff. It was my original intention for chapter 4.  
> Any thoughts so far?


	6. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Peel these potatoes. The least you could do for stealing my boat.”

X6 shot upright, Danse froze in place. The stalled boat gently rocking in the waves.  The glowing one rose from his pile of blankets and dusted himself off.  The ghoul stretched himself up to his full height and straightened his sweater.  His clothes, despite being fairly threadbare, were impeccably clean and well patched up for the wasteland.  His wrinkly skin glowed a soft green that could have acted like a lantern. He gave the impression of a curmudgeonly old man rather than an irradiated monster.

“I don’t want to alarm you but it appears that you’re stealing my boat,” he said with a rusty voice characteristic to most ghouls.  He held up his empty palms, a shrug of half-surrender.

“Now I understand that getting in a tussle with a deathclaw isn’t the most delightful thing ever, so I guess you’re justified in taking shelter here.”  He shoved his hands back into his pockets, digging out a carton of cigarettes and a lighter. “However if you happen to be raiders, I’ll just let you know that I am able to call ferals here at a moment’s notice.  I don’t know if you know this, but ferals usually leave ghouls alone, and judging by all the protective gear you got there, you ain’t ghouls.”  He lit a cigarette and took a long drag.  The ghoul offered a cigarette to the two synths, who both declined. The ghoul shrugged and pocketed the cigarettes.

“Right, you humans shouldn’t breathe the air out here.  You’re a fragile bunch.”  Danse shifted nervously in his suit.

“We’re not humans,” X6 corrected. “We’re-” Danse elbowed him hard in the stomach, nearly knocking him over. _Message received_. X6 staggered back before regaining his composure.

“I’d rather you not do that,” he threatened calmly. He shivered, still recovering from the freezing water. Danse ignored him.

“So this is your boat?” Danse asked dully. “What were you doing just, sleeping here?” Danse wave his arm toward the mass of blankets. He seemed displeased by the presence of the glowing one.

“I was waiting for my rescue on my boat,” the ghoul gestured to the engine at the back.  “Damn thing gave out this morning.  I don’t know how to fix it myself.”  He wandered over to the engine, a vintage looking thing with a slightly rusted rudder at the end of it. He lifted up the cover on it, revealing a mass of wired, pistons, and motors.  X6 couldn’t tell where one wire started and another ended.  

“I have to wait for someone back on Staten Island to notice I’m gone before I can get this fucking motor fixed,” the ghoul exasperated.  

“Couldn’t you radio for help?” asked X6.  There had been a perfectly good HAM radio in the control unit near the steering wheel.  The ghoul mentioned he was from somewhere else, most likely he lived with other people.  

“I tried but-” The ghoul shook his head disdainfully, however Danse provided an answer.

“Areas of high radiation interfere with the radio frequencies carried by consumer devices.  Judging by the looks of it, the only way he could get a signal is if someone else with a radio was standing less than 20 feet away.”

The ghoul raised what was left of his eyebrows in astonishment.

“I didn’t know that.”  He took another drag from his cigarette and held out his hand. “I’m Roger. Sorry, Didn't catch your names.”

Danse introduced himself but ignored Roger’s. X6 reciprocated the shake but remained silent.

“What’d you say your name was? I’m 253 years old, my hearing’s not to great,” jested Roger.

“I didn't say anything,” said X6, with a slight hint of puzzlement.

“Even in the Glowing Sea, we’d have to have multiple soldiers on a mission because Brotherhood radios were only marginally stronger.”  Danse laughed.

The ghoul threw down the cigarette and sized up to Danse.

“Brotherhood ain't welcome here. You can fucking swim back to your bunkers before I help out any of you Brotherhood of Shits.” Roger shouted at Danse.  The armored man took a step back.

“I can guarantee you I’m not in the Brotherhood,” Danse gritted his teeth.  

“Don’t think you can fool me, you’re wearing power armor!  I’ve seen what you tin-plated goons do to good Ghouls!”  Roger pulsed vibrantly with irradiation.

Danse took another step back, nearly fumbling.  

“I said I’m not in the Brotherhood anymore,” he growled.  “Stand down, old man.”   _This is stupid._

“Danse can fix your engine for you,”  X6 blurted out.  Roger and Danse turned to glare at him.  “He is proficient at mechanics and I have no doubt he can take care of whatever...motor problems you’re having.”  Even face obscured, he could tell he was scowling.  

“Is that so?”  Roger hissed. _Boat. Stalled. Water. Jersey.  We need to get to New Jersey._

“Y-yes! I can I can do that!”  Danse relaxed.  He sidled himself away from the edge of the boat, less precariously. Roger exhaled deeply, the light from his body subsiding into an even gentle glow. He rubbed his eyebrows, irritated.

“Go ahead, I won't stop you,” Roger settled. Danse knelt down next to the exposed engine, scrutinizing every part. X6 held his breath behind clattering teeth, hoping that his plan worked.

“A belt slipped. This won't take long.” Danse diagnosed.

 

The three men sat in silence for several minutes as Danse tried his best to fix the engine with his gloved hands.  Roger took his place at the controls, resuming his nap. X6 sat on the floor, draped in his sleeping bag in an effort to keep warm. The river had been below freezing. X6 hoped he wasn't succumbing to hypothermia, coursers were hardier than regular synths. He was able to survive much more extreme temperatures than anyone above ground. Even then, he knew he wasn't invincible. If a few minutes in cold water was enough to kill him, he couldn't imagine what it was like to be weak to less than that. X6 was still shivering. He wrapped himself tighter in the bedroll.  He settled on watching Danse work to distract himself. Danse had retrieved several tools from his bag and laid them messily next to him. A screwdriver, a few wrenches, and a pair of needle nosed pliers. Methodically, Danse picked up each tool and did something with them. It seemed graceful, despite being handled in large, clumsy gauntlets. X6 couldn't tell what he was doing. He wished he knew. It was certainly scientific. _Certainly admirable_. Just watching, It felt like home, somehow.

Danse replaced the cover on the engine and signaled to Roger.

“Try it out now,” he called, wiping his gloves off. Roger turned the ignition. The propeller whirred to live and jolted the boat forward. He was ecstatic.

“Running like a dream!” He cheered. Danse gathered up his tools and tucked them back into his bag. Roger turned off the engine and turned back to the two intruders.

“Listen, i had the wrong idea about you, Danse,” apologized Roger, looking more forlorn than he should have been. “Let me make it up to you-”

“Can you take us to New Jersey? Preferably as south as possible via waterways?” X6 interrupted as politely as possible.

Roger wiped sweat from his brow. “Yeah, I know how to get to Princeton.  I just need to make a stop to tell my husband I’m safe.”

***

It turns out Roger Wong was part of a small-scale caravan company that specialized in delivering goods specifically to ghouls in the New York/New Jersey region. There’s a settlement on Staten Island entirely comprised of ghouls, most of them being pre-war but there was a decent amount of post-war. Roger was a mail carrier back before the bombs fell. He had lived in Brooklyn all his life until the Great War, when he and his husband Gerald (incidentally, also a mail carrier) were the only survivors on their entire block. He stole the boat in order to escape the glowing death that befell the city. The two wandered around before ending up on Staten Island, where other ghoulified survivors were able to meet up. All of them settled down to use their collective knowledge to produce a thriving community. Roger and Gerald both made deliveries using their boat, switching off duties every other day.  Most humans steered clear of them, be it fear or disinterest.  Ghouls tended to keep to themselves.  Gerald and Roger have been happily married for 237 years.

 

Roger’s house was a small cottage overlooking the Atlantic. The home was typical of those pre-war, with the exception of looking like a bomb had never fallen mere miles away. It was on the south side of the island, with your backed turned to the city, it was almost like nothing had changed at all.  In fact, many of the other homes in the neighborhood gave the same impression. If given enough time, those who lived before the war tended to be much more detail oriented than your average settlers. It was almost surreal.   _Vanity? Pre-war indulgence? Coping mechanism?_

 

Roger had docked his boat and grumbled to himself, gesturing the two inside his home.

“I thought you were taking us to Jersey,” stated Danse, a little too harsh than he intended. Roger looked surprised.

“I mean, I could take you now but it's a few hours ride from here and Jerry’s still worried about me,” Roger lilted, trying to avoid having a tone of _I want to see my husband, dammit_.  “You’re welcome to come in, however.”

Gerald Wong was a ghoul of the non-glowing variety. Slightly taller than Roger and just as wrinkly. The moment he walked through the door, he rushed up into an embrace.

“You were supposed to be home hours ago! I thought you were hurt, Roger!” He rasped.

“No, no Jerry, the boat broke down is all.  I tried to send for help but…” he confessed. Gerald let go. He still hadn’t noticed X6 or Danse, both still wearing full protective gear.

“I’m glad you’re safe now,” Gerald sighed. “Can you help me with dinner, Glowbug? The Hardings came by and dropped off a squash.”  Roger laughed.

“They’re too kind, but I have to make another trip down to Princeton-” Gerald’s hazy eyes went wide.

“Princeton? Roger, it’s after 7, you won't get back till tomorrow morning!”

Danse gave a little cough, finally alerting him to their presence. He grinned wide and gave a hearty laugh.

“Roger! What did I tell you about bringing home spacemen?”

***

Gerald Wong insisted that Roger not sail out til the next morning, which meant that X6 and Danse would have to spend the night. Both men refused for different reasons. X6 didn’t like depending on strangers and Danse was afraid of radiation poisoning. Somehow, they found themselves setting four places at the table in the Wong’s kitchen, defeated by kindness. Danse didn't really have a good grasp on place setting, X6 had to move the fork and knife to the correct side in each setting.  

“Why are you doing that? Does the position of the plate really matter that much?” Danse asked rhetorically after the fourth knife had been reset. X6 found himself unable to come up with an answer. _Who learns table manners in the wasteland? Initial programming? Reading in a book somewhere? Watching other people do it?_ He simply shrugged.

“It feels right.”

 

Roger peeled potatoes in the kitchen alongside Gerald, who had been preparing the squash from earlier. X6 had wandered off to contact Alice, leaving Danse in full armor in the kitchen with the Wongs. He spent the past two decades trying to unlearn what had been ingrained into him in 10 years in the Brotherhood. _Any non human entities are an abomination to be irradiated from the Commonwealth._ It was definitely a shock to him, back as a paladin, to find his mentee didn't share the same ideology. At that time it pissed him off she would socialize with several ghouls and known synths. “ _It’s more productive to make friends than enemies, Danse. You never know when you’ll need them._ ”  Of course, she was never really on the side of the Brotherhood.  She made it clear when she was outed as being a Railroad spy.  

If it wasn’t for Lynn, Danse’s found family would still be safe soaring above the Commonwealth.  But if it wasn’t for Lynn, he would have been executed as a traitor.  

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Dance found himself asking. The husbands exchanged a look that Danse couldn't quite pin down. _Oh god they’re not pitying me are they?_ Gerald sighed.

“No you can just-” Roger cut him off.

“Peel these potatoes. The least you could do for stealing my boat.” The ghoul winked. He handed Danse a knife and half peeled potato.

***

The radio signal was much more distorted than it usually was. The waves had to be stretched over hundreds of miles of land and filtered through clouds of radiation. However, Alice was still recognizable over the device.

“...They keep saying that Jack is ‘stable’.  Ma and pa still won't let me see him, though. I want to go visit my brother real bad, Mr. Essex!”  Alice had been worried at every check in prior to this.  This was the first where she was more annoyed than upset.

“Alice, stable doesn’t necessarily mean he’s able to see you.  It’s entirely possible he is very contagious,” He articulated, parroting what some of the scientists in biosystems would whisper about.  Luckily he wasn’t around back when the Institute was dealing with FEV.  The veteran coursers would secretly complain how it was especially messy business.  “Your parents don’t want you to become ill as well.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’!” A third voice echoed faintly from behind Alice.  “I’m not taking you to Diamond City for you to get sick, too Alice.”  Scolded Carey Nordhagen.  The radio clicked off for a few seconds.  When the signal returned, Carey was at the other end.  
“Talk about something else with Alice.  Tell her a story or something.  It would be best for her to take her mind off of Jack.”  She said, hushed.  

“I can do that, ma’am.”  

The radio klunked off again. Alice returned, a spark of eagerness in her voice.

“You got a story for me? _Oooooh_ is it scary?” Alice giggled. X6 yawned and furrowed his brow, knowing full well nobody was looking at him. The morbid was his MO, but young humans typically are shielded from those deemed “horrifying”.

“What is the use of a scary story?” He asked.

“You’re supposed to tell scary stories on Halloween, Mr. Essex!”

_Damn was it the 31st already?  Time flies when you’re on the run from your friend’s mental health._ X6 filed through his brain, searching for any semblance of what could be literature, scary or otherwise.  Works of fiction had been scarce within the Institute, and even if there had been novels available, synths surely weren’t granted access.  Textbooks and research journals, however, were readily available.  Even after living on the surface, X6 never had much of an interest in fiction.  He stuck mostly to nonfiction about natural sciences.  

_You know what’s horrifying?  The parasitic reproductive behavior of the tarantula hawk.  It's a wasp that hunts tarantulas.  Its stinger is able to paralyze the spider, which allows the tarantula hawk to lay eggs inside of it, still alive.  The larva uses the tarantula as a nest and a meal before bursting out of the torso, fully grown.  The worst part is that the great war didn’t eliminate these wasps.  Surface probing indicates that the tarantula hawk wasp still exists out west, with reports of the insect growing to tremendous proportions._  

X6 wished to never encounter one of these giant wasps.

“I am afraid I do not know any stories,” X6 admitted.  Alice whined over the radio.

“Oh come on, Mr. Essex!  Not even anything from your trip?”

Heavy footsteps came from outside the living room.

“X6, may I ask you something?”

Danse poked his head in. X6 had taken a seat on an old overstuffed sofa, at the same time making himself as compact as possible. He was still wearing the suit but had taken his helmet off.  His eyes were drooping, eyelashes fluttering every couple of moments in an effort to keep himself focused. The past few days had surly taken a toll on him, but X6 looked considerably softer in the face than the past few days. Danse snapped back into focus.

“Why do you have your helmet off!” He asked rhetorically. X6 stretched and ignored his question.

“Alice wants me to tell her a ghost story,” X6 countered.

The radio crackled in his gloved hand.

“Who’s that with you?” She asked.

“That is Danse. We are traveling together to the capital. He is a good soldier and mechanic.” X6 summarized for her. Danse tilted his head slightly, compensation for facial expressions was common to those who often wore full armor.

“Is Mr. Danse your friend?” She piped.  X6 didn't say anything for a few seconds longer than Danse felt comfortable with.

“Yes. He is my friend,” X6 finally admitted. Danse exhaled, not even realizing he had been holding his breath. A tiny spark of warmth welled up in his stomach. He was glad no one could see his face, as an almost involuntary grin crept across it.

“Does he know any good scary stories?”  

X6 passed the radio off to Danse. He squeezed the receiver for the first time.

“Miss Alice, we had a pretty nasty run in with a deathclaw today, would you like to hear about that?” Danse asked gently. The little girl gasped.

“Wow! Really? Did you die!?”

Danse chucked.

“Let’s start from the top, shall we?” He began.  X6 sat back and listened intently. Before he knew it, he drifted off to sleep.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate chapter title: Hey did you know that Cazadores are real?
> 
> SHRUG! I swear I'll try to keep to a consistent update schedule.  
> How's it going? Thoughts so far?


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